


Alpha

by rainingsomewhere, Syvia



Series: Omega Lambda [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Agender Frisk, Canon Extrapolation, Canon-Typical Violence, Cinnamon Roll Papyrus, F/F, Female Chara, Flowey Is A Dick, Flowey Ruins Everything, Gen, Neurodivergent Frisk, Pacifist Route, Rain is Not a Scientist But She Tries Really Hard, Sans and Flowey Swear a Lot, Sans is a Troll, Selectively Mute Frisk, Slow Build, Spoilers - All Routes, The F is for Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainingsomewhere/pseuds/rainingsomewhere, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syvia/pseuds/Syvia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On one archway, the triangles of the Delta Rune hang in reverse.</p>
<p>This story does not begin there.  It begins with a child, a flower, and a skeleton.  In order for Flowey's plans to come to fruition, Frisk must befriend everyone.  </p>
<p>So long as Flowey doesn't ruin it himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, Syv and Rain decided to do a thing. We hope you like it! -Ω

It’d just been more of the same: repetition after repetition of boring unending _stupidity_.

Until the human fell.

Until he’d tried to kill them. Because this was his chance. _Finally_. The human was _freedom_. This one **soul** was his way through the Barrier, out of the Underground, away from all these idiots. 

Maybe he wouldn't be able to Reset once he got outside. He might _actually_ have worried about that at some point. He couldn’t remember. It hadn’t mattered. He hadn’t, _couldn't_ have, cared. He'd have preferred to _get out_ and _do something different_ than just _sit_ down here for another seven or more years doing _the same goddamned thing over and over again_ \-- 

So he’d been gloating, and then _she_ caught him toying with the human. So she’d ruined his chance. No big deal. He'd just Reset the timeline and do it again. Next time he wouldn't talk as long - he wouldn't talk _at all_. He'd just _kill_ the human, absorb their **soul** and then he'd--

Except.

He’d tried to Reset. 

It hadn’t worked.

He’d tried _again_. 

It hadn’t _worked_. 

Maybe… was he doing it wrong? 

Flowey curls into himself, hiding among the flowers, closing his eyes and reaching for that place _within_ \- something that had become more automatic than breathing (since flowers didn't have lungs). It was more like moving a muscle (which he also no longer had) or blinking his eyes; he didn't think about it anymore, he just _did_ it. 

But… maybe something _had_ changed. He hadn’t Reset in months. He hadn’t even bothered to Save in weeks; he hadn’t been _doing_ anything but sitting beneath one of the _only_ places in the Underground that saw sunlight, _photosynthesizing_. So.

Maybe he’d forgotten a step.

He’ll try again, this time slow and careful. 

He thinks back to his first moment: to opening his eyes in the throne room and finding it utterly changed, covered in the same golden flowers that Chara had missed. The ones she’d asked to see once more… just once. He remembers wondering what had happened: if it had all been a bad dream, if he was finally waking up… if someone had found him lying on the floor and--

He reaches out for that moment, a sneer tightening his face. He holds onto that point in time and pulls - he’ll put himself _back_ there--

But nothing… happens. 

He grows teeth, baring them in frustration. He dives down into his roots and flexes them. He’s in _all_ of this flower bed. He is in it, through it; all the roots of all the flowers are his. He pushes, pouring magic through the longest ones until they are larger, tougher. No thicker than tendrils of ivy, they’re still more than strong enough to tear this little garden _apart_. 

Flowers topple as his vines steal the roots out from under them and lash through the soft, airy soil of the bed. It isn’t enough. 

He gathers them up in negligent sweeps. In his haste to collect the flowers, petals tear, scatter. More fall in a shower of gold as they strike the walls. It’s spiteful, and petty, and he shrugs the thought off his shoulder like an insect too stupid to realize he doesn’t have any pollen for them. He needs to destroy something. Anything. Even after the flowers lay crumpled and scattered around the cavern, he hisses, and his vines lash around him in the dirt, a writhing green mass--

Flowey blinks. 

Golden flowers gently wave above his head. He hunches away from them. 

"What the--" He flinches at his own voice echoing in the cavern. It’s too quiet. It’s too _perfect_. He'd just been-- 

He grows taller, rising above the flowers, looking cautiously around. It’s... fine. Just as it…

No. He'd _just_... _torn_ all those flowers into _pieces_ , left their withered remains for _her_ to find the next time she did her rounds. But now it’s all...

Reset.

That had been a Reset, and _he hadn't done it_.

Flowey freezes, more still than he should be in the faint breeze moving around the cavern... more still than the flowers beneath him, nodding gently. Someone had Reset.

Flowey had checked - over and over - in his endless repetition. If someone else could have reset, could have taken power away from him, they would have done it. He’d explained how. Or… tried, anyway. He’d sure _given them reason_ to do it. No one had caught on. So he’d thought no one else in the Underground had the ability. But now....

Now there’s someone _new_. 

"Well," he mutters to himself, stretching his mouth into a grin, trying it on for size, and then making it bigger... just because he can. " _Isn't that interesting?_ "


	2. Fine-Structure Constant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [α, the fine-structure constant](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fine-structure_constant) -Λ

_so, uh… funny thing about the universe. turns out that there are all these magic numbers in it - fundamental physical constants that always stay the same, no matter what you measure with. lotta people say, something so constant exists, that’s gotta prove there’s someone out there who watches us, listens - generally gives a shit, y’know?_

_me, well. i always gotta be **that** asshole. one of my own constants, i guess. see, the numbers - eh, let’s make it easy. start at the beginning. so, α. that’s the fine-structure constant, describes the strength of the electromagnetic interaction between charged particles. α’s value goes one way, we don’t have stars. none. whole universe is colder than snowdin town in winter. α goes the other, though, and stars work just fine - but they never manage to spit out any of the stuff we need to become **us**._

_in other words, there might be more universes out there than spider legs in muffet’s pastries, and every single one of ‘em might have a whole different value for α. thing is, uh, **we** aren’t exactly there to measure it. or more to the point..._

_we never existed at all._


	3. Thermal Diffusivity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, Watch That Third Step; It's a Doozy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: anxiety, reference to panic attacks. -Λ

You’re so cold.

The frozen stairs brush against your bare knees as you slowly climb. A few snowflakes slip down into the back of your sweater. Three stairs to go.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. After you’d left… Grillby’s, and the heat and noise inside, you’d started trudging back towards the trail to Waterfall, deeper down into the spiral of the Underground. Only then it had started to snow, hard and fast and sudden, and you didn’t know what to do. The inn was far, far on the other side of town, and while the tall skeleton sentry, Papyrus, had made you a little shelter inside of his shed, it was always locked. You’d only stayed there after he’d captured you and put you inside. 

You aren’t very good at fighting. You’d rather hide, or just… not talk to anyone at all. But you need to become friends with everyone; you’d learned that right after falling. Otherwise you’d be miserable forever.

You didn’t want that to happen.

And… most monsters don’t like to fight. Not really. But... they’re scared. Not just of you, but of all humans. You know that. You’ve read Mom’s history books and the books in the Librarby. You’re not sure why, exactly, but… humans are strong. And scary… scarier than any monster.

(Almost.)

But you don’t want to frighten anyone, or hurt them at all, even if you _didn’t_ need to make friends to be happy. You’d tried to tell that to Papyrus, the first time he’d captured you, but you had been too scared to say a single word. You’d just dropped your stick and sat down in the snow, shivering.

...then you’d asked him on a date?

(But you _can_ make spaghetti.)

During the next capture, you’d been so relieved when a little white dog had run off with Papyrus’ “special attack” that you faceplanted into the first bone of the perfectly normal attack he’d tossed your way - and then the second, and then the third... 

The _third_ capture, you’d finally remembered to bring a cinnamon bunny. A friendly monster in Grillby’s said that monster food was special and could make you feel better right away - so after Papyrus clonked you over the head with his first volley, you’d munched a big mouthful. And it _did_ work, just like the monster said, and you’d ducked, and jumped, and it was almost fun, until the snow filled with more bones than you could count, with one rising huge and silent out of the ground like the corpse of a tree trunk.

You’d thought… even though it was _Papyrus_ , you’d thought--

Then you flew. 

You floated over every single bone - even that last one, so tall it almost reached the spiral loop of the path above - until you finally drifted down to land in the snow right in front of Papyrus.

...and then you’d tripped right over his boots, and he’d captured you again anyway.

Another flurry of snow ghosts around your face as you keep climbing. You tilt your head back, opening your mouth to catch some snowflakes on your tongue. They taste faintly of smoke, tomatoes, sugar.

Three more stairs.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You’d just wanted to wait out the storm.

Mom - Toriel, that was her real name - hadn’t even wanted you to enter the rest of the Underground. She said… she’d seen it before, what happened to humans who did. She said a name that crumbled as it left her mouth, already dust before she finished speaking. **Asgore**.

She said he’d kill you.

To leave the Ruins, where Mom lived, you’d walked… you’re not sure if it was minutes or hours. The twilight colors of the surrounding walls had faded into dawn, eventually opening into a grassy meadow in the center of a huge, dark, empty cavern. You’d waited there for a moment, turning your face up towards the thin shaft of sunlight like a lost flower. But nobody came.

Beyond the meadow, a strange symbol above an open gate. 

(A circle, wings, three triangles that pointed up, down, up.)

Behind that gate was a forest. A shadowed path. A branch, broken.

The icy wind prickles your skin and stings your eyelashes. When you stop to take a small, gulping breath, it burns your throat like vinegar. 

You keep climbing.

Papyrus is... kind. He’d helped you with the puzzles, and _tried_ to feed you, even if the spaghetti he made had been frozen to the table by the time you’d found it. Whenever he had captured you, he’d always left you water and food - sort of - and a helpful note.

_"IF YOU'RE JUST LOOKING FOR A PLACE TO STAY... JUST ASK!!! YOU DON'T NEED TO FIGHT ME!!!"_

That’s what he’d said in his third note, the one he’d left after capturing you for the last time. After that, he’d told you that he didn’t want to fight anymore, and that you could pass, and that… since you wouldn’t be delivered to the capital, he wouldn’t be able to join the Royal Guard, or… or make any more friends.

You didn’t want that to happen, either.

The warm light spilling through the pane is just a few steps away. Three more stairs, and you’ll be able to touch the wreath on the door.

Wait… hadn’t there only _been_ three more stairs?

(Hadn’t there only been _three stairs_?)

You look over your shoulder down the long, icy way you’d climbed already. 

One step. Two. Three.

You stair at them a moment before slowly turning back around. Evergreen boughs tickle your nose.

Your brow hits the door with a small, frustrated thunk. 

The latch clicks open.

“HELLO, SMALL HUMAN!”

The room beyond is large and cozy, with soft maroon walls and a striped carpet. Cheerful synthetic music, slightly distorted, blares from an old television tuned to a cooking show. Across from you, a wide doorway leads to a kitchen tiled in orange and brown. 

(Also, there’s a sock.)

You poke the toe of your boot at the wiggly stripes of the carpet. They almost match your sweater.

“DID YOU SLEEP WELL?” The familiar voice crashes into you again, loud and bright, the sound itself enough to chase away the creeping cold still prickling the back of your neck. Papyrus’ voice.

You lift your head, chin firming.

He sits on a large, sagging couch across from the television, still wearing the same clothes - white armor, black leggings, red boots and gloves. He’s so tall that, even sitting, the top of his skull is at least as high as your head. That’s okay. Most of the monsters that you’ve met have been bigger than you.

“I MADE CERTAIN TO REFRESH THE WATER.” Papyrus leans forward, seemingly unconcerned by the snow spilling in all around you. One of his gloves is cupped in front of something small and round; you stretch up on your tiptoes, trying to see, then almost fall over as your knees begin to shake.

That had been a _lot_ of stairs.

“WAS THE KIBBLE ADEQUATELY MIXED?”

You shuffle a step forward, tugging at the baggy sleeves of your carpet-patterned sweater. You don’t want to lie. Toriel… Mom, she’d said that lying hurt everyone, but mostly… yourself. She’d stroked your hair as she’d spoken, her white paws huge and soft and gentle. You’d rested your head against her shoulder and said you wouldn’t...

...but you don’t want to hurt Papyrus’ feelings. He… he _cares_.

You settle for tilting your head in a noncommittal direction.

“HUMAN, YOU DO NOT LOOK FULLY RESTED.” Papyrus rises from the couch, drawing himself to his full height. His red scarf flutters out behind him, held aloft by a sudden wind gusting through the front door.

(It’s really cool.)

“PERHAPS YOU SHOULD SIT DOWN.”

You try to open your mouth to answer, but you… can’t. Even if you know that… that you’re here, and safe, and Papyrus had left you another note, asking you to come in and accept his hospitality, part of you still wants to… hide, or stand still and quiet like a practice dummy, or… or not be _here_ at all, like the few seconds right after you’d opened Papyrus’ front door. Sometimes it just happens. 

Like… like with Toriel, at first. You hadn’t even been able to say anything to her dummy; you’d just stood and bit your lip and twisted your hands inside of your sleeves. But then she’d had to go on ahead - she wanted to surprise you with a pie - and to keep you safe in the Ruins, she’d given you a cell phone and told you to call whenever you wanted, even just to say hello.

After four minutes, you’d dialed her number and whispered, _hi, Mom_. She… she seemed to like that. 

Your chin trembles. You hope she’s okay.

“I AM WELL-VERSED IN VARIOUS FORMS OF LETHARGY, HUMAN. YOU MAY WELL BE AWARE OF THIS.” Papyrus is bending over you, hoisting you carefully up into his arms before nudging the door shut and walking briskly back to the couch. Your nose presses into warm red wool. “YOU HAVE MET MY BROTHER, SANS.”

You have.

(Forest. Path. Branch.)

He’s a skeleton, too. Shorter than Papyrus. Still taller than you. He’s fat, or, um… big-boned. He wears… basketball shorts. Fuzzy slippers. A huge blue coat with a lined hood.

He… he’d been the one to find you, after you left the Ruins.

Papyrus is still talking.

“...VERY DE _MONSTR_ ATIVE OF LETHARGY--” His teeth snap together with a sharp clack, and his chestguard shifts under your cheek. He’s looking up at something.

There’s a long silence. 

You hold your breath. 

There’s another long silence.

You let out your breath. So does Papyrus.

(Sort of.)

“--RELIEVED SIGH.” The couch jangles as he lowers you onto the cushions, a small round something rolling to rest against your leg. It’s a rock.

(But it’s pretty cute.)

“NOW. YOU SHOULD EAT. I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS--” He indicates himself with a sweeping gesture. “--WOULD BE PLEASED TO MAKE A FRESH BATCH OF SPAGHETTI, JUST FOR YOU.”

“Spaghetti?” 

You reach up and touch your mouth, surprised. That… had been _your_ voice.

“INDEED, SMALL HUMAN! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM A SPAGHETTORE OF UNPARALLELED SKILL! IT WOULD BE REMISS OF ONE AS GREAT AS MYSELF TO EXTEND HOSPITALITY, THEN FAIL TO BEGUILE YOU WITH MY RENOWNED CULINARY DELIGHTS.”

You move your lips again, thoughtfully. Spa. Ghet. Ti. Even frozen, you’d wanted to try it. Papyrus’ brother… he’d said something about “almost edible,” but that… that had probably been just another joke you didn’t understand.

“Spaghetti.” Your voice still shakes, but you manage to get the word out again. “Please?”

A knit blanket swirls around you like a very grand, very multi-colored cape, landing solidly on your shoulders in an odd array of loops and folds. You nudge it to cover the rock, too. 

“I LEAVE YOU WITH OUR HEAVY BLANKET- SPEAR-KNITTED BY CAPTAIN UNDYNE, AND THE EVEN HEAVIER RESPONSIBILITY OF--” Papyrus places a small remote into your hands, a very serious expression crossing his skull. “--CONTROLLING THE TELEVISION. THIS IS A RARE PRIVILEGE, SMALL HUMAN. USE IT WISELY!” 

You look down at the remote, gently touching each of the four dials in turn, then nod. Papyrus beams at you.

“AND NOW I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL COOK…” The fixed expression of his skull changes again, the shadows of his eyesockets and frontal bone projecting sheer dismay. “NO… NO, THIS IS ALL WRONG! I CANNOT COOK YOU SPAGHETTI!”

You clutch the remote, shrinking back against the couch and swallowing hard. Papyrus pays you no mind, firmly gripping one end of his scarf.

“FOR I AM NOT WEARING MY KITCHEN ATTIRE!”

He tugs.

Something… happens.

A tall white hat now sits proudly atop Papyrus’ skull. 

A clean white apron with a blue bone embroidered on the chest covers his armor. The word ‘ **appetit** ’ is scribbled beneath the bone in suspiciously familiar red marker.

A pair of white gloves cover his… other gloves? They seem to be exactly the same length, only puffy, and quilted, and… 

Rectangular?

“AH!” Papyrus waves one glove, an oddly mechanical gesture. “I SEE YOU ARE ADMIRING MY MTT-BRAND OVEN MITTS, SHAPED TO RESEMBLE MTT HIMSELF!” 

You tilt your head, confused. On the television, a box-shaped monster wiggles the same oven mitt with the same robotic wave as Papyrus. 

“THEY ENSURE THE SAFETY OF ONE’S HANDS WHILE COOKING, AND I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM EVER CONCERNED WITH SAFETY! NOW--” Papyrus adjusts his hat, then pivots neatly, throwing his scarf over his shoulder with a decisive toss. “--LET THE SPAGHETTI COMMENCE!” He marches across the room, turns back to salute you, then disappears into the kitchen.

You hug the blanket around your shoulders.

The box-shaped monster on the television is gone. Instead, the screen is showing an extended close-up of an oven door. It looks a lot fancier than Mom’s, but you think you still might see a pie inside. 

The day you’d fallen, Mom had made you a huge butterscotch-cinnamon pie to celebrate, so big that you’d had some left the next night, and the next. You’d eat a little piece before she read to you and made you brush your teeth and picked you up, snugly and carefully, and held you just like Papyrus did. You’d wanted to stay. Mom… loves you.

But one night you’d been cuddled up in bed, sleepily hugging one of the dragon plushes Mom had given you. Your mouth tasted like butterscotch and cinnamon (you sneakily hadn’t brushed your teeth) and Mom had just turned out the light; you were closing your eyes...

Then pain - pain worse than you’d ever felt. Your stomach twisted in knots, stabbing, burning, and you’d tried to scream, but your lips were swollen, blistered, and your throat felt like it was closing and there was a terrible, disgusting smell--

Then... nothing. The pain was gone. Your vision was black. It was so much of a relief that you would have cried, but you… you weren’t sure that you _could_ , anymore. And from far, far away, there was a deep voice:

_Chara, please... Wake up! You are the future of humans and monsters…_

And then you’d opened your eyes and it was morning. It had all been just a bad dream.

You had it the next night.

And the next.

Chara. It's a pretty name, but it isn't _yours_. It belongs to someone else, someone you should know but can’t remember. Maybe you’d forgotten her when you fell. Maybe she was from _before_ \- but that doesn’t seem right. You’d never had those dreams on the surface, or… or even believed monsters were real.

Wherever Chara is, she needs help. She isn’t in Snowdin, so you have to keep going. You _know_ that. You’re filled with **determination**.

But after you find her and she saves everyone, maybe… maybe you both could go back and make a pie for Mom, to thank her.

You wonder what sort of monster Chara is - what type of pie she likes. Mom is a boss monster, and she likes snail pie the best. The shopkeeper is a bunny monster, and she seems to like cinnamon just as much as you do. Papyrus is a skeleton monster, and he would… probably like spaghetti pie, you decide. And Sans…

“HUMAN!” 

You almost drop the remote. 

An MTT-brand oven mitt waves robotically at you from the doorway, followed by Papyrus’ smiling skull. “CAN I INTEREST YOU IN A BEVERAGE? WE HAVE WATER, MILK, AND KETCHUP.”

You’re intent on re-balancing the remote between your knees, tucking one end into a loop of the blanket to keep it safe. “Ketchup?”

“KETCHUP IT IS!” Papyrus zips back into the kitchen.

Oh.

You… _do_ like ketchup on your fries. Usually. It’s sweet and sour and salty and good and tastes very much like itself. But the inside of your mind had been too loud, too bright, filled with smoke and the same constant music from the broken jukebox; all you could think of was a pool of red red red spreading across your plate, dripping into your lap, sticky and smelling... not like itself at all.

You’d shaken your head a little too fast. Sans grinned at you, shrugged, then lifted the bottle to his teeth and just...

...he was still smiling.

You shiver, burrowing your cold nose into the blanket. The yarn - yarns - are thick and warm and fluffy. One corner is knit neatly and carefully, just like Mom might make, but the other corners look more like they were made by spiders. For spiders.

(Of spiders?)

You pull the blanket even closer around your shoulders, wiggling your head through the big open loops. It feels (and smells) like a very woolly fish-net.

“FOR YOU, MY HONORED GUEST!” Papyrus has returned, carrying a large juice glass full of thick, red liquid. “MY BROTHER WOULD APPLAUD YOUR PREFERENCE, IF HE COULD BE BOTHERED TO APPLAUD ANYTHING. MORE THAN LIKELY, HE WOULD MAKE SEVERAL VERY BAD PUNS. TRULY, YOU ARE FORTUNATE THAT HE IS CURRENTLY ELSEWHERE.” 

You nod, even though you have a sneaking suspicion that the bad puns will ketchup to you regardless.

“THOUGH…” Papyrus seems to be pouting, despite his lack of lips. “ _HE_ IS NOT FORTUNATE, FOR HE WILL BE UNABLE TO PARTAKE OF MY SPECIAL ‘GUEST SPAGHETTI.’ BUT PERHAPS HE WILL RETURN BEFORE IT IS READY.” He stares thoughtfully at the front door, then returns to the kitchen, still holding the glass.

You examine the dials on the remote for a moment, then carefully choose one to turn. A large red M flashes briefly across the screen. You frown, and try another.

The television switches off.

That’s okay. The room is quiet. Papyrus is in the kitchen. There’s a large juice glass half-full of thick, red liquid sitting beside you on the arm of the couch. Everything is ok--

\--you stare very, very doubtfully into the glass.

Thick red ketchup stares back. It smells like smoke, tomatoes, sugar, vinegar.

It… isn’t okay.

After you’d been captured the first time, you’d escaped and run all the way back. Out through Snowdin, across the bridge, past the puzzles, up and up the spiral path. Until you’d been… there.

The first sentry station. The lamp you’d hidden behind. The wooden gate. And finally, the long, narrow path through the forest - the forest you remembered as being taller, closer, _scarier_ than any surface forest ever was.

Only it… wasn’t.

The air had been fresh and cold and clean, putting a flush on your cheeks and a hesitant smile on your face; snow had crunched gently beneath your boots. The dim cavern light painted everything in early-evening colors, and it was quiet, and beautiful, and… maybe a little sad. No shadows, no noises.

No branch.

You’d sat down in the snow and cried.

Every other human that fell was dead. That’s what Mom had told you. They left the Ruins, and **Asgore** killed them. You’d found all of the little shoes boxed up in your room: some for feet smaller than your own, some larger.

You’d cried then, too, but not because you were scared.

You’ve _forgotten_ something. Something _important_. Something to explain why hearing Mom’s warning didn’t make you want to turn around and run right upstairs again, and why other things… did.

The expression of the nice flower monster that told you to make friends, right after you fell. Thick red ketchup under glass. Sans’ laughter, strained and hollow, when he’d met you for the first time, and you’d turned around too quickly and messed up his joke.

...Sans.

Loud, sharp bangs resound from the kitchen. You try to cover your face, but your elbow catches your ketchup glass, knocking it to the carpet.

It’s empty.

You take a long, shaky breath. It tastes like garlic.

Scraps of a familiar melody echo through the doorway, followed by a few last bangs and the dull clack of a knife against wood. Papyrus is still in the kitchen. There’s nothing to be scared of...

_...just a dark cavern filled with skeletons and horrible monsters._

Maybe you should go keep Papyrus company. 

You reclaim the remote from your knees, tucking it beneath your chin as you struggle off of the lumpy couch cushions. The blanket slides to your feet in heavy loops and tangles, dragging behind you reluctantly with every step.

The television snaps on. 

You clutch the remote with both hands, cradling it protectively against your sweater. Maybe you’d bumped it accidentally?

(You hadn’t.)

The screen is filling with a colorful test pattern. A sultry mechanical voice informs you to STAY TUNED FOR A NEW PROGRAM (LOVE MTT.) You aim the remote at the controls, rotating the power dial to OFF.

The edges of the pattern flicker, fade to grey.

Static.

\--- ... .-- .- ...- . ..-. --- .-. -- -.-. --- .-.. .-.. .- .--. 

... . .. -- -- .. -. . -. - -.. .-. --. .- ... - . .-. ...

The remote slips from your fingers.

You don’t want to look. You _can’t_ look. You’re already running to the kitchen, past the television, past the sock, skidding on the tile falling crashbang to your knees throwing arms out to grasp-- 

“AH.” 

\--a pair of red boots.

“THE PASTA IS NOT QUITE READY YET, DEAR GUEST, BUT YOU MAY OBSERVE MY CULINARY PROWESS, IF YOU WISH.”

You press your face against Papyrus’ black leggings. He smells like bones and clean cotton and freshly-vacuumed carpet. He smells like snow and cardboard and evergreen boughs, and maybe just a little bit of dog.

He smells absolutely _nothing_ like smoke and sweat and bar grease, or old dust, or ozone...

...or rain.

“YOU WILL NOT SEE A GREAT DEAL FROM DOWN THERE, HUMAN!” Fierce, rhythmic tapping, wood against metal. “I CAN LIFT YOU UP, SO THAT YOUR HEIGHT MAY BE CLOSER TO THAT OF MY O--”

You shake your head, not moving. It’s too quiet, too dark. You can’t hear. You can’t see.

“--O… KAY. THEN PLEASE, MAKE CERTAIN THAT MY BOOTS ARE BUCKLED SECURELY. I CHECKED THEM JUST THIS MORNING, BUT ONE NEVER KNOWS WHEN A BUCKLE MAY WORK ITSELF FREE.”

You nod, very small. The blanket moves with you. It feels like a friend.

“I THANK YOU FOR THIS SERVICE, DEAR GUEST.” Papyrus’ boots shift slightly beneath your grasp. “MY SIGNATURE PASTA - HAND-CRAFTED ESPECIALLY FOR YOU, BY MYSELF, THE GREAT PAPYRUS! - WILL SOON BE READY FOR CONSUMPTION. THE NOODLES MUST BOIL FOR EXACTLY 41.3 SECONDS MORE.”

Papyrus needs your help. You tentatively loosen your grip, poking at the front of his boots. Three wide strips of thick, rough material cross the surface of each; the edges are scratchy, almost sharp. Those must be the buckles.

You give the first a small tug.

_RRRRRIP._

You hurriedly pat it back down.

A small click overhead, followed by a few more spoon taps. The kitchen smells very strongly of tomato and garlic, and something... green, like the friendly vegetable monsters that lived near Mom’s house. They enjoyed feeding you healthy bits of themselves; Mom had vehemently approved. Papyrus must, too.

You sigh. 

“SMALL HUMAN! ARE ALL BUCKLES SECURE?”

You hesitate. The buckles - they _aren’t_ , and if you pull them…

Your eyes start to prickle. You’re going to ruin Papyrus’ signature hand-crafted pasta because you can’t think of what to _do_ ; you’ve never seen buckles that are--

(Velcro?)

Oh. You press each strip down with your finger, then nod carefully against Papyrus’ legbones.

“EXCELLENT! THEN, WOULD YOU LIKE TO CHECK THOSE UPON MY BATTLE BODY? THE ONES ON THE BACK ARE PARTICULARLY SUSCEPTIBLE TO POPPING OPEN AS I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, MAKE GESTURES TO EMPHASIZE THE GRANDEUR OF MY SPEECHES.”

You nod again, then scoot back on your knees, giving Papyrus room to crouch down in front of you. He stays very still as you clamber onto his back, the blanket trailing off of your shoulders like a confused rainbow. You rest your cheek against his armor.

This feels… familiar, though you don’t think that you’ve been up on someone’s shoulders since you were really little. You’ve sort of… lost track how old you are. Ten, maybe. Ten seems like a good number. Maybe eleven. You hope your age has at least two digits; it would look much more distinguished that way. Papyrus, you think, would agree.

(No one ever remembered your birthday before. Nobody... cared. But after you fell, Mom said you could celebrate _that_ day, instead - the day you came to live here. She’d bake the biggest pie, the _absolute_ biggest. You’d wanted to help, but…)

Something clatters overhead. You try to tighten your grip; Papyrus is standing up, and his armor is very smooth and shiny, almost like a refrigerator door--

(You probably can’t put magnets on it, though.)

\--and you still need to check the buckles. Or, um, velcro.

Oven mitts gently adjust your legs, the inside of your knees resting on top of cloth and curved plastic. You take a mouthful of red wool and pull your head beneath the blanket, tugging Papyrus’ scarf through a few loops of yarn. There. Now, if you slip, hopefully the blanket will catch you.

A hinge squeaks as Papyrus’ hipbones shift beneath your knees; he’d opened something, and now he’s climbing… something else? Something tall. You try to peek around his shoulder-guard, but all you can see is a large, steaming pot of pasta... tipping.

There’s a huge rush of water. 

15 seconds left until the noodles are drained.

10 seconds left until the noodles are drained.

5 seconds left until the noodles are drained.

The noodles are drained.

...they smell like salt, cardboard, and-- 

You duck behind Papyrus, clinging to his shoulders as tightly as you can. You definitely had _not_ caught a whiff of smoke and bone odor, or felt your heart… sink.

Papyrus smells like wool and clean plastic and faintly rectangular aftershave. You press your nose against the gentle curve of his armor and take a deep breath, closing your eyes.

Squelching noises. A few splats. Papyrus is laughing, long and proud and gleeful. 

(Cooking spaghetti seems a lot more exciting than you remember. Maybe it was the kitchen attire; you’d had an apron - green with tiny golden flowers - that you’d loved very much, but no hat or MTTs. That must be the difference.)

Papyrus’ hipbones shift again; he must be climbing back down. Quick blooms of light shiver behind your eyes as his boots hit the floor - one, two - then nudge something else. You wince, but don’t say anything. 

“DID YOU… HEAR THAT?”

Water dripping through pipes. The snow outside, _shh_ , like a secret. Your breath between wool and hard plastic. Nothing else. No static or voices or loud loud thoughts inside your head.

Maybe you _had_ said something? 

“HMM…” Papyrus cups a mitt to the side of his skull. “SANS?”

You don’t ear a word.

“AH, WELL.” 

Metal clanks against metal, followed by vigorous tapping - stirring, you think. The spaghetti must be almost done. You haven’t checked Papyrus’ armor buckles, but… that’s okay. You’ll try again later.

“PREPARE YOURSELF, SMALL HUMAN, FOR CULINARY WONDERS, THE LIKES OF WHICH HAVE NEVER BEEN SEEN UNDERGROUND… UNLESS ONE WERE TO CONSIDER THE MOST RECENT OCCASION THAT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAD TO ENTER A KITCHEN.” Quick, even bootsteps. “WHICH IS TO SAY, YESTERDAY EVENING, WHEN I CRAFTED THE SPAGHETTI FOR MY OH-SO-CUNNING TRAP. THIS! HOWEVER! WILL BE EVEN MORE DELECTABLE, AND HAD IT BEEN PLACED UPON THE TABLE, SURELY I WOULD HAVE CAUGHT YOU EVEN THEN! FOR IT IS MY FINEST CREATION TO DATE! … ALTHOUGH THIS ISN’T. A DATE. I ASSURE YOU.” 

(It isn’t?)

That’s okay, too. You just like being with Papyrus, even when you’re completely tangled up in yarn and scarf and color. His sentences are so long that they tangle sometimes, too, and you don’t always understand every single word, but… but each one means you’re safe. 

“YOU, MY BELOVED GUEST, HAVE THE DISTINCTION OF BEARING WITNESS - AND _TASTENESS_ \- TO THE GREATEST OF GASTRONOMICAL DELIGHTS. BUT ALAS, IN ORDER TO EMBARK UPON THIS JOURNEY - A JOURNEY THAT WILL SEND YOUR TASTEBUDS TO PLACES HITHERTO UNKNOWN - WE - THAT IS TO SAY I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS - MUST EXTRACT YOU FROM YOUR LOFTY PERCH.” Papyrus is already crouching as he speaks, letting you unhug yourself as his oven mitts gently free your knees from his spine. Your legs brush diner vinyl.

The rest of you doesn’t move.

“HUMAN? WHILE I AM CERTAIN THAT MY BATTLE BODY HAS BEEN A COMFORTABLE PLACE TO _HANG AROUND_ \- OH, NO--”

You both wait. Nothing happens.

“--CURRENT FASHION TRENDS HAVE NOT YET DISCOVERED THE BRILLIANCE OF SPAGHETTI - EVEN THE FINEST SPAGHETTI, DELICATELY PRESENTED BY THE DEFT ARTISTRY OF YOURS TRULY - AS AN ACCESSORY. THEREFORE MY SKULL WOULD NOT BE A SUITABLE RESTING PLACE FOR YOUR MEAL.”

You nod, slowly. Something in your mouth tugs and pulls.

“AH. IT APPEARS THAT MY SCARF IS TANGLED IN THE BLANKET. I CAN ASSURE YOU, THERE IS NO REASON TO PANIC! THIS IS SIMPLY A _PUZZLE_! AS I AM SURE YOU ALREADY KNOW, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM _EXCELLENT_ AT PUZZLES! NOW, THE SOLUTION TO THIS IS VERY SIMPLE. TO GET YOU FREE, I MUST--”

There’s a short pause. An oven mitt brushes past the top of your head.

“--AND, _THERE_. HUZZAH!”

You slide onto a thick cushion, blinking a little as your hair settles messily around your face. The walls are still maroon, and the carpet still striped with the almost-same colors as your sweater. A wooden table stands nearby, and a tall, extremely cool skeleton has just finished drawing himself to his full height, and is now beaming down at you with a wide, proud smile.

You’re still holding the end of his scarf in your teeth.

“A BOLD LOOK INDEED, DEAR GUEST!”

A spear-knit blanket flows down around the skeleton’s armor in loops and rainbows, a cape of truly Papyrus proportions. You smile back at him.

“I ASSUME YOUR SKULL IS MORE THAN ADEQUATELY PROTECTED. YOU CAN EXPECT NO LESS FROM THE BATTLE BODY OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS - EVEN ONLY A SMALL PART OF IT! BUT THE EFFECTIVENESS WOULD BE LESSENED WERE YOU TO EAT ANY OF IT. NOT ONLY THAT--” An oven mitt gently extracts the scarf from your teeth, tucking it above your ear. “--YOU WOULD HAVE LESS APPETITE FOR MY MARVELOUS SPAGHETTI. I MUST ASK THAT YOU RESIST DOING SO. I UNDERSTAND THAT IT MAY BE DIFFICULT; I TOO, HAVE FELT THE DESIRE TO NIBBLE UPON ITS DELECTABLE EDGE AT TIMES. AFTER ALL, IT IS VERY GREAT.” 

You nod. Your head feels particularly red and wooly.

“FEAR NOT. I SHALL BE BUT A MOMENT BEFORE I RETURN WITH THE SUSTENANCE DENIED YOU FOR…” Papyrus takes a moment to ponder, drumming his mitt against his jawbone. “AT LEAST ONE HOUR, BUT I AM NO LONGER CERTAIN HOW LONG YOU HAVE BEEN HERE. THIS IS A GOOD SIGN! IT MEANS OUR VISIT IS GOING VERY WELL!” His tall hat wiggles as he marches himself back into the kitchen. You swing your legs.

Your seat spins.

You swing your legs _more_.

Your seat spins again. A barstool? 

You look down to confirm. Yes. Bright orange vinyl.

(Wonder where _that_ came from.)

You swing your legs really, really hard. Your seat spins all the way around.

You giggle.

“NYEH-HEH-HEH!” Papyrus stands in the entrance to the kitchen, holding a big plate piled high with spaghetti. He pivots once, blanket flaring out around him as he matches your spin - then again, and again, until he’s rotated himself over to the table. He places a small fork to your left, lays a white napkin delicately across your lap, then presents you the spaghetti with a flourish and a wide grin. 

(You’re finally warm.)

“I… want to make you ‘psghetti.” Your voice is small and rusty and tastes like saltwater, but your smile is almost as wide as a skeleton’s. “Next time. If you help me find… ‘ngredients. It… it prob’ly won’t be as good, but I w-want to thank you - the Great Papyrus - for… for being my friend!”

He stares down at you, frozen in the act of placing the spaghetti on the table. His eyesockets are... sparkling?

You hope he isn’t mad.

(It doesn’t matter. He’s important to you. You have to tell him that.)

“I… fell.” You’re reaching up to him, gently patting one red glove. His mitts must be in the kitchen. “But… but I don’t mind! Because if… if I didn’t, I… I wouldn’t have met… you. The Great Papyrus. We should go on our date after we eat!”

You really, _really_ had not meant to say that last part.

“I…” You hesitate, glancing down at your napkin, then back up again. Your face is hot. “I… I just like you. Very much.”

“REALLY?” Papyrus clasps his gloves together, then kneels down beside your stool. “AHEM. INDEED, HUMAN, WE ARE FRIENDS, FOR YOU TOO ARE VERY GREAT. NOT QUITE AS GREAT AS MYSELF, BUT THE GREATEST HUMAN I HAVE EVER KNOWN; INDEED, MOST LIKELY THE GREATEST HUMAN I _WILL_ EVER KNOW.”

You… you want to hug him, but you’re not sure if you should. Do skeletons like hugs?

“IT IS SETTLED! I MUST CONFER UPON YOU THE EMBRACE OF FRIENDSHIP!” 

Oh. Good.

Bony arms surround you. You wrap your own arms around Papyrus as tightly as you can, tangling your fingers in his blanket-cape. A skull gently brushes your head.

“BUT - FOR NOW - PERHAPS WE SHOULD BE SATISFIED WITH THE SHORTER VERSION, AS GASTRONOMIC DELIGHTS YET AWAIT YOU IN THE FORM OF MY SIGNATURE PASTA!”

You nod against his apron, but hold on a little more. 

(You never know when it might be your last chance.)

“HUMAN, NOW THAT WE ARE FRIENDS, WE MUST NOT BE SO FORMAL.” Papyrus pats your shoulder. “YOU MUST CALL ME PAPYRUS, LEAVING ‘THE GREAT PAPYRUS’ ONLY FOR VERY SPECIAL OCCASIONS.”

“Papyrus?”

“INDEED, SMALL HUMAN! AND I SHALL CALL YOU…” He hesitates, meeting your eyes as you reluctantly let go of him. “I… DO NOT ACTUALLY KNOW YOUR NAME.”

You look down at your plate. The spaghetti is a mountain with noodles for sides. Tiny trees and boulders of zucchini poke out from the marinara snow.

“My name?”

You’d climbed for a very, very long time. Then you’d fallen down.

You don’t have very much left that’s… yours.

But it’s Papyrus. Your friend. And… and he might have captured you, but he’d never give you away.

“I’m--”


	4. Angle of Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, Be Not Afraid of Greatness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was born of the realization that if we'd heard Undyne's dialogue to Papyrus, she would have been a lot less frightening. -Ω

Frisk is depending on him. _Him_! And, as one who is so very great, he will _not_ let his new friend down. 

He will keep his chin up! Chin up, smile on, ribcage out. As he strides through Waterfall, he is the very picture of confidence! He is _The Great Papyrus_ , and he can do this. He is _going_ to do this. There is no doubt in his skull. He can tell the truth, and he can explain it, and he can convince Undyne that everything is absolutely fine! Because it is. Absolutely fine! He just... has to explain that... he didn't capture the human. But he will explain, and he will accept Undyne's disappointment, because it is the Right Thing To Do! He is the Great Papyrus, and he always does The Right Thing. Even when the Right Thing is not... in the strictest sense, his orders. 

But how can he go about capturing the human when the human is his _friend_? It is the duty of the Royal Guard to protect monsterkind... but there is no _danger_. Frisk is just as sweet and kind and great as any monster Papyrus has ever met. Not quite as great as himself, but certainly on par with Sans. Frisk is not Great in the same way as Undyne, but none _are_. Undyne is _Mistress of the Suplex_ and Captain of the Royal Guard. Hers is the Greatness of being able to Kick Ass and Take Names. It is a kind of Greatness that (while Papyrus is certain he has it) does not come easily to him. Thus he takes lessons from Undyne, who frequently displays such Greatness. She assures him that it is a Greatness he can one day Master... and then promptly tells him that if he never does, that is okay too.

Papyrus is Extremely Motivated. But... at the same time... he is beginning to wonder. He wonders, as he comes to a halt with a great _stomp_ of each boot, heels touching, toes apart, shoulders back and ribcage _proudly_ thrust forward, what _exactly_ this mastery will entail.

“H... HI, UNDYNE!” 

He is certain it has something to do with friendship. After all, everyone likes Undyne a great deal! The shine of her armor! The way the her long crimson hair flutters in the wind! The way boulders shatter into gravel when she suplexes them (very popular with landscapers!) He must simply... muster his Vast Greatness to uncover the secret of being friends with _everyone_... and then everyone's problems will be solved! He is sure of it!

"Hey, Paps."

Ah. A very serious tone of serious thought. She is also dressed in FULL ARMOR, which he has only seen once before, after frequent requests over multiple days. If he had known that she would put on the _entire suit_ simply for a visiting human he would have... well. For all his Greatness, he does not _know_ how a human falls down (not like that) in the first place. He will have to ask Frisk the next time he sees them! His dear friend will surely explain. For now, he has a job to do, and he will do it Well. With his Signature Greatness. It is there in his voice as he speaks. Complete Confidence! 

“I'M HERE WITH MY DAILY REPORT.” He raises a glove to his teeth and clears his non-existent throat. “AHEM.” He stands at parade rest (although he doesn't understand how a parade can rest; they're always moving), with his arms at his sides and his feet at shoulder-width. The glow of Undyne's eye shifts a little in her helmet as she looks at him.

"Hey. Relax, punk."

His Infinite Smile lowers from 9.15 to 4.13 at that. A great deal less impressive, but much more relaxed! He uses a More Powerful Smile when he is nervous... not that he is nervous! He has no reason to be! Undyne sounds not-upset, which is good! She has simply told him to relax, and it is a simple order to follow. But now… _now_ it is time to explain. 

“REGARDING THAT HUMAN I CALLED YOU ABOUT EARLIER….” 

She spins to look at him helmet-to-skull, hair lashing out behind her. _Wowie_. He is always impressed by how swiftly Undyne can move. She cannot not run quite as swiftly as The Great Papyrus (and is very kind to notice!) but her lunges are lethal, and her spears are stabby. 

“Did you fight them?” 

Well! Had he ever! She would be so pleased with the way he had handled himself! Following her advice by varying the height and width of his bones! Alternating blue with white to confuse his opponent! Waiting until _just the right moment_ to use his Blue Attack. Waiting until they were confident! Waiting until they believed they had successfully evaded his cunning attack and were distracted by the intricate beauty of the oncoming femurs! 

Then they were blue! They had stumbled a little in the snow, adjusting to the additional challenge of being blue _and_ dodging his attacks. He offered a skilled battle as well as an exercise routine! Except… the human had… _not_. They had proven very… inexperienced at jumping, and nearly incapable of dodging. They had _complimented_ him, and professed over and over that they wished to be his friend. And even once they _had_ been captured, they had not _remained_ captured! 

Oh, wait… Undyne is waiting for his answer.

"HUH? DID I FIGHT THEM?" Yes! Repeating the question to clarify what one has heard and give oneself time to think. A _classic_ stalling maneuver, perfectly executed by The Great Papyrus. He can tell Undyne _does not suspect a thing_.

He strikes his most confident pose, a _valiant_ pose, turning into the wind and looking off into the distance, his scarf fluttering in the breeze! He projects Utter Confidence, as he tells Undyne a _complete truth_!

“Y-YES! OF COURSE I DID! I FOUGHT THEM VALIANTLY!”

But... he can’t say he is proud of it. He _had_ fought valiantly, mustering his intent to capture the human by whatever means necessary… or as many means as it would take to render them so weary they would cease fighting. The human’s tiny face and chest had become illuminated by a bright light. It had startled him at first - but then, he remembered his training! He remembered Undyne's advice! 

_'When you attack a human, their **soul** starts to glow.'_

_'GASP. YOU MEAN, IT BECOMES VISIBLE?'_

_'Yep.'_

_'GASP.'_

It had indeed. Their **soul** had been red, and very pretty… and it had trembled every time one of his attacks struck. He had fought valiantly... if... it could be considered valiant... when your opponent was not fighting back. He... he has not watched many of the Anime that Undyne always talks about, but he does not remember any of the _heroes_ fighting an enemy that did not fight them back. 

Undyne had told him something about Psychological Warfare! Which the enemy used to distract you, and disarm you, just before they Attacked! But the human had been utterly genuine in their compliments, and their flattery, and their desire to be his friend. Frisk had not fought him… any of the four times the human had attempted to leave Snowdin and enter Waterfall.

He... has doubts, really, that his fighting had been Valiant at all. He… perhaps he had _lied_ to Undyne just now. He considers his confrontations with Frisk, and his words, and he does not realize Undyne is talking to him until she barks his name.

"WHAT?"

He twists around, arm coming up swiftly - and then stopping at rib-height, because Undyne had told him long ago that he did not _actually_ need to salute. He likes to salute, and when he does, Undyne salutes back… but he is not done giving his report! Saluting comes at the _end_ of a conversation! He hears Undyne cough, and watches her shift her weight to her other foot. He is about to ask her to repeat herself--

“You fought 'em. Then what happened? Did you capture them?”

Oh. That’s what she said. What an excellent question. Yes. That _is_ part of his report, because that is part of what happened. 

“DID I CAPTURE THEM?” Once again, he Stalls for Time! Once again, Undyne suspects _nothing_. “WELL ….”

_Technically_... yes. Several times. He had absolutely captured Frisk... who had promptly escaped... and even more promptly disappeared, only to come back later. He had captured Frisk three times and felt... horrible about it. Even with accommodations as luxurious as their garage. But it was for their own protection! Clearly if the human could not avoid a few little bone attacks, they should not be roaming around where anyone would find their unconscious self. Papyrus had put them in time out. But time had a way of wandering back in again and running off with your favorite attacks. Papyrus had not, to date, found a solution for that. He would! Eventually!

So yes! He had captured them! But... if he tells that to Undyne... she will ask why he did not turn them in... which he could not do. Which he did not feel _right_ about doing! Friends did not imprison friends! Unless they were putting themselves in danger, and needed a swift intervention followed by hugs and stern talking-tos and warm spaghetti followed by additional hugs. That was why he had not made the bars closer together! He did not wish the human to feel like they _couldn't_ leave. The bars were simply a clear warning that they _should_ not leave. 

One that... Frisk had not taken to heart. But they were quite Great, and they were very, _very_ Determined, and had not heeded the advice of the bars. Nor had they followed the notes... not until later. Papyrus was glad that Frisk had listened to the one about staying in their garage any time - and the other about coming to visit him before they left (again). They had a lovely visit with much consumption of his Well Crafted Spaghetti.

He... did not think it had been a date. He had consulted his handbook, concerned that he may have skipped several important steps. He had then discussed it with his brother, and been reassured that their visit was... _probably_... just a visit.

He glances at Undyne, who has turned back to the surrounding, stalactite-littered plateau that made up some of Waterfall, then draws himself up again. _Technically_ …

“NO.”

That is the truth. He hopes that Undyne will not be so _very_ disappointed in him, but it is the truth and, although he did not succeed in capturing a human, The Great Papyrus can admit this truth! 

“I TRIED VERY HARD, UNDYNE, BUT IN THE END... I FAILED.”

He balks at the words; he can hear them echo in his mind (alas for his empty skull), feel them in his **soul** , and hear the inner voice that cannot understand how The Great Papyrus could possibly do this, but he must admit the truth of it. He can still feel Frisk in his arms, soft, and small, and hugging back with surprising strength in their tiny body and he... doesn't mind.

He can't imagine having done otherwise.

Undyne seems to… deflate. She _is_ disappointed. Alas! He suspected, and he is sorry for it, but… He tries to think of something to say to her - the perfect words of encouragement to re-inflate her spirits. He can tell her that he is sure that she’ll catch the human… no. 

No… that would be bad. That would be _very_ bad. He can tell her that he’ll try twice as hard next time - _no_! No, he cannot tell her that when he _knows_ he will not make the attempt! He can tell her… that if Frisk comes back to Snowdin… he will feed them Spaghetti! He will feed them so much spaghetti that they will not be able to move! Then he will take them to the garage and tuck them in the (annoying) dog bed with the heavy blanket that Undyne knitted. He will read them a bedtime story and… no. _No_. He will not tell her that! He will not do such a thing, because it is the _perfect trap_ , and he knows he would not call Undyne to tell her that Frisk was sleeping in his capture zone! 

“Don’t worry about it, Paps,” Undyne says kindly. “I’ll take the human’s **soul** myself.”

YES. THAT WAS WHY. THAT WAS PRECISELY WHY.

“YOU’RE GOING TO TAKE THE HUMAN’S **SOUL** YOURSELF?” This time? This time it is not a perfect maneuver. He is not stalling for time. He curses his lack of ears and needs to know if he heard what he thought he heard. The human’s **soul**? But… but he had been told to _capture_ the human, not to, t-to take their **_soul_**. That _can’t_ be right. Why would that possibly be _necessary_? Frisk hadn’t hurt anyone! They were _good_. Taking their **soul** would-- 

“ _Yes_ ,” Undyne says, slowly and carefully. 

Papyrus appreciates it, because he still feels as if he can’t be hearing what he hears that he’s hearing.

“I’m going to take the human’s **soul** myself. Are you okay, Paps? You don’t look well.”

He doesn’t _feel_ well. Frisk is his _friend_. If he had successfully captured them, Undyne would have come... and Frisk couldn’t dodge against his expertly-thrown _bones_. How on earth would they manage to evade Undyne’s spears, when they would not be able to _move_? He must convince her not to. If Undyne had merely wished to capture the human, Papyrus is _certain_ that Frisk would have won her over… _eventually_. But if Undyne plans to take their **soul** , they will not have a chance to show how nice they are! They - Undyne doesn’t understand! So he, The Great Papyrus, must _make_ her understand. He will clear up this misunderstanding so his friend is not--

“BUT UNDYNE, YOU DON’T H-HAVE TO DESTROY THEM! YOU SEE… YOU SEE…”

She turns to face him, and the words never take shape. Her eye is narrowed, and her voice is understanding and kind and _not interested_ in his arguments.

“Yeah, Pap, I _do_ have to destroy them.”

She reminds him of his brother upon their first horrible trip to the dentist - _tooth is, paps, that you’re much too cool to get a hole lotta cavities, but we gotta go anyway. otherwise the dentist gets bonely, y’know?_ \- though without the accompanying reassurance (or, thankfully, the puns.) She reminds him of a small, squeaky voice, saying very flatly that some people simply were _not nice_ and never would be...or she _would_ , if that had actually ever happened.

She reminds him of… of Santa… explaining why they could not go to the Surface for Gyftmas. 

“This human? Their **soul**? Is our chance to _finally_ get out. I can’t just toss that aside, Papyrus. No matter how nice they are.”

But… how had she _known_ they were nice? How could she know that Frisk is nice when Papyrus has not told her? How can it _not matter_? Why…. 

No. It doesn’t matter. If Undyne is murdery then… then… he will have to protect Frisk _himself_. He will have to do whatever it takes. Normal puzzles will not be sufficient here. He will have to use… _brain games_. 

“I UNDERSTAND.”

He does understand. He understands that Undyne is willing to do dreadful things as Captain of the Royal Guard. She does it to _help_. To help him, and King Asgore, and _everyone_ in the Underground. 

But he also understands that he cannot allow her to succeed. Even though he still respects her, and _believes_ in her. She is the same Undyne as she was ten minutes ago. She is his friend.

But so is Frisk, wherever they are.

So he meets her eye, nods once.

“I’LL HELP YOU IN ANY WAY I CAN.” 

And he isn’t talking to Undyne.


	5. Probability of a Type I Error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, Is It Hard to Tapdance in that Armor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your reading pleasure, a phone call between two nerds. -Ω

She’s still staring at the sea grass as she backs into the shadows and allows the glint in her eye to fade… it’s an _awesome_ trick and worth the magic, so there, Gerson!

She’d sensed _someone_ in the grass, and waited. The kids that (all too often) followed her around like squeaky shadows deserved a nice long warrior pose and an intimidating glare that would send them running home to mommy - and then bragging to their classmates. It was the least she could do for the little squirts. 

Except these particular little squirts are running further _in_ to Waterfall, not out. Great. Now she’ll have to keep her eye out for kids, too. Even more reason to find the human quickly and deal with them. At least it wouldn’t be difficult, with one of the little punks being bright yellow. The other had been wearing an old tutu.

So. The human moved through Snowdin and evaded Papyrus. She isn’t getting reports from Sans (not that she ever _gets_ reports from Sans) and she hasn’t seen them in the caves yet. Maybe they slipped past her. Maybe they’re hanging out at the new Nice Cream stand (did that guy _really_ have to write over the historical plaques? _Seriously_?). She can count on Gerson to give her a heads-up if the human gets to his place, but not necessarily the same _day_ he sees them. Gerson’s still sharp as he was twenty years ago, he’s just… relaxed. What can you do? But they _shouldn’t_ be that far. They haven’t had time. 

She’ll head over the plateau and walk through the river. Humans avoid water when they can; she knows that from Dr. Alphys’ historical documents. They aren’t made for it. Unless they can run so fast that they run _over_ water, they sink, their clothes get wet, and tactically it’s a bad move. You get wet, you drip dry, you leave a trail. _Undyne_ doesn’t give a shit. _She_ isn’t the one being hunted. So, assuming the human isn’t planning to go jump in any of her lakes anytime soon, the best place for her to lie in wait is at the pier, just beyond the raft landing point.

Which will be fucking pointless if they’re already passed it up. So she needs to check.

So. She’s going to do it. 

She doesn’t know why she hasn’t done it _already_. Silly, really. It would have been the fastest way to get information but… Alphys is busy. Doing nerd stuff! Undyne doesn’t want to interrupt. She can handle one puny human on her own… even though the human is apparently so puny that they _might_ be able to run right past her without her seeing them.

She paces through the stalagnates, the light from the greater cavern disappearing and the roar of the boulder falls growing faint as she navigates the stone pillars with sure steps. She can see just fine. She’s used to the near-total darkness - though she shouldn’t turn on her phone yet; it would fuck with her darkness-vision. She’ll have to wait until she’s actually _in_ the pillar room. Or… first she should make sure the human hasn’t gotten too far because if they _have_ she’ll need to cut down the river and over the falls to the next ring and she--

\--just needs to _call Alphys_. Now. Like _now_ , now. Like, not putting it off anymore now. Because she’s looking between the pier and the still-shut stone door leading to the Wishing Room, and she needs to make a fucking decision before _she_ jumps in the lake, because even if her damn phone is waterproof that doesn’t mean she can _use_ it in the water.

She hisses the start of a curse between her teeth as she fishes out her cell phone and maintains a _firm_ grip on it. So firm that the plastic creaks in her fingers and her glove starts to crackle under the pressure… 

...or is that the other way around?

Yes! She’s going to dial the number. 

… _Any second now_.

Her thumb’s been hovering over the speed dial button for… the last few minutes but _no one can prove anything_! She’s also been giving herself a pep talk under her breath.

“--seriously. You’re Undyne, Captain of the Royal Guard, stone-cold badass. You can do this thing. There’s no one stopping you from doing this thing, so do it. ...Do it. …DO IT!” 

She obeys her own command, reflexively pushing down the button. This isn’t her first pep-talk; sometimes a warrior has to psyche herself up to be as badass as possible and there is nothing wrong with… why is her phone ringing? She-- _fuck_. She _actually pushed the damn button_! She fumbles with it, phone sliding out of her fingers before she catches it again - and _doesn’t_ crush it - and tries to hit the cancel button... and hears a familiar voice… and _damn_ it, too late to hang up now. Alphys would wonder why she called. She’d think Undyne blew her off. She’d-- 

“H… h-hi? Algore Docphys h-here.”

She’d squeak adorably into the phone and mangle her own name… what had she just said? Holy _shit_ , that was cute. Algore kind of sounded like Asgore. Undyne just… _damn_. She can barely keep herself from saying out loud how much she likes Alphys. She just… she... _loves_ that nerd.

“U-Undyne?”

And sometimes she _can’t_ help but say it out loud. Usually where there’s no one to hear her, and when she’s not _on the phone with said nerd_. She brings her phone up to her head - and brings her armored fist into her helmet with an almighty _clang_. And cracks the screen. Fffffffffffffff.

She yanks the helmet upward a few inches with her free hand - now she can’t see, but at least her mouth is clear.

“HI! Alphys! I said ‘What’s up, nerd?’”

Now she can’t hear anything. 

“Hang on a sec, Alphys.”

The tricky part about getting her helmet off is to _not_ yank out her hair and part of her scalp. Her first helmet was simple, nothing fancy, a visor that flipped up and down. She’d thought-- how _badass_ would it look if she had a plume on the top of it? But why get a plume when she could just use her _own hair_? Then she’d be intimidating _and_ her hair would blow dramatically in the wind! So she’d punched a hole in it - and she was right, it _looked awesome_. 

She’d also snagged her hair on it - but that was _one time_ , even if Gerson still wouldn’t let her forget about it _or_ stop saying her helmet was an impractical piece of frippery that impaired her vision. But at least her newest one came with a pre-cut hair hole. It’s useful!

So she doesn’t really need it for battle because no one’s fast enough (or has the balls) to actually hit her in the face. So she’d have worn any black eye with pride and told everyone who gave it to her - anyone who could actually land a hit? On _her face_? Would deserve the recognition. 

Her helmet is _still_ useful because it’s _really fucking scary_.

She finally pulls the helmet off, shakes her hair back and stretches her fins. Great. Done. Now to chat with adorable nerd.

“Okay, back. Hi, Alphys! Anything going on?”

What’s going on is Alphys making a really fucking _cute_ squeaky noise. There might have been a ‘hi’ in there somewhere. Something that was probably her name. Undyne can feel air on her third row of teeth and her cheeks kind of hurt from smiling. Maybe she should make small-talk to save Alphys from giving her cute overload and indirectly killing Undyne’s newest phone since her fingers are clenching a little with every squeak--

“How’s t-the important scientific seagrass? I, I mean…”

Undyne opens her mouth - she has no idea how the seagrass is right now, since she’s staring at water-sausages. Very interesting, gently bobbing, unassuming water-sausages. She’s about to tell Alphys _just_ how interesting the water sausages are… and says nothing as Alphys continues. 

“Snowdin looks…”

Undyne can hear the click of computer keys, Alphys bringing up the video feed. Okay then. If Alphys is getting to business, Undyne will get to business. But if Alphys starts the small talk again, Undyne will, _by dog_ , encourage her. She may not remember _much_ about Alphys’ nerdy crap outside of anime, but they’re perfectly capable of holding a damn conversation.

Despite all evidence to the contrary. 

“...j-just the same as always. T-the dog squad and your other sentrie… sentry, ahh, they must have done an excellent job!” 

She can’t help but grin a little bit at that. If Papyrus is one thing, it’s enthusiastic. 

(If he’s two things, the second is _loud_.) 

“Good! Yeah, Paps is great! He pays attention.” He was creative with his puzzles, constantly thinking of new ways to build old classics. So what if he kept incorporating weird tech and electricity that he couldn’t actually build himself? His eyes are bigger than his stomach… obviously. Undyne isn't exactly _upset_ that he keeps giving her reasons to call Alphys.

“Thanks, by the way. He said the color maze was awesome, and the electrodes for the invisible maze worked really well!” Even though they hadn’t, _actually_ , helped him catch the human. 

“O-oh. I... I… um. I’m glad!”

Undyne can hear, faintly, the clatter of blunt claws on a desktop. Alphys’ stutter gets worse as she apologizes-- that it hadn’t worked, that the random generation of color hadn’t given them the intended result. Then again, maybe Papyrus was fibbing about _that_ too. If so, she’ll kick his ass a little in training and get over it. The point _is_ , Papyrus is doing exactly what Undyne expects him to do, there is a human in the Underground, and Undyne is going to suck it up and deal.

As soon as she’s done chatting with Alphys.

Damnit, she’s still chatting with Alphys. How long has she been standing here without saying anything?

“W-what was the question?”

Undyne flinches, thinking back… she’d gotten lost in Alphys’ explanation and science-babble and she can’t… remember. Wait. 

Had there even _been_ a question? 

“Uh. You asked that one about the seagrass!” Yeah - she totally remembers that. So now she’d _answer_ the question. “So yeah, seagrass! It’s really… grassy.” 

...She’d give a totally _lame_ answer to the question. 

“O-oh. Good!”

“Yeah! That’s good… and so is Snowdin. Snowdin’s all good. Fluffy white snow, fluffy white dogs, and everything normal! Good. It’s good that that’s… good.” …seriously. What the fuck is she saying?

Undyne grips her helmet in one slowly creaking leather and metal glove and considers smashing it against the side of her head… but she can’t do that. She’d dent her helmet. In fact, she puts it down, before she _does_ dent it during what she planning to do next.

“Give me just a second, Alphys.”

She plugs the receiver with a strategically placed thumb, breathes deeply through her nostrils, clenches her empty hand _tight_ so she won’t clench the one still holding the phone, rears back…. 

“NGHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

A few bits of gravel fall from the cliff and plop quietly into the lake. Water laps against the pier and Undyne takes a deep breath. The air smells faintly of algae. She smiles a little more easily when she puts the phone back to her cheek.

“I don’t wanna bug you in the middle of your nerd stuff but--” 

“No!” Alphys protests. “I… I mean… You… You’re not… bugging me. I… I mean, you’re not even a bu--”

Undyne bites back a snicker. She is absolutely bugging Alphys in the middle of her nerd stuff, because Alphys never _stops_ doing nerd stuff. So any time Undyne calls or visits, she _will_ be interrupting nerd stuff. Alphys never complains, but she never complains about _anything_. She’s awesome that way. She gets passionate about something - puts her whole **soul** into it - and ends up making a damn _television star_ out of junk. Even if Mettaton’s personality leaves a few things to be desired (like respect for his creator, appreciation for monsters _other_ than himself… humility), everyone agrees that he’s impressive work. 

“I _mean_ … you… you can always count on me! Or call on me. Or… call. Me. Um… Alphys?”

Undyne knows she can. She knows Alphys is totally reliable, and she is _going_ to make it up to Alphys later. Undyne refuses, _fucking refuses_ to be like that damned rectangle. She will not only come and visit when she wants something. She will not _only_ call to talk to Alphys about business… as soon as they catch the human.

“Naaaaaaaaah,” she teases, “how about I just keep calling you ‘nerd,’ nerd?”

“Ummm… s-sure? Okay?”

“GOOD!” she barks into the phone, holding it in front of her mouth so Alphys will get the _full effect_. “I LIKE NERDS! But yeah, I can call you Alphys and save the nerds for casual conversation.” Undyne mentally slaps herself on the back. She’s back to sounding like the smooth, in-charge ass-kicker she actually _is_. 

Alphys squeaks some more. Undyne waits, and listens to it, and if anyone can see her grin getting smaller, more affectionate? Let ‘em look.

“H-hold… hold on a m-minute, I need to… to do an, um... important sc-science thing…”

“Okay!”

The important science thing takes a while. Undyne waits, and hopes it isn’t important in terms of ‘the CORE is overheating and I have to fix it before it blows’ so much as ‘my machine just told me a thing and I need to see what it said.’ 

(In the case of Mettaton, there was no ignoring him when he had something to say. Very distracting.)

Alphys still sounds calm enough when she returns. “ _Sorry_. I just, um… was… checking to see if th-the littl… the human was, um, anywhere I could see. In Waterfall.”

Undyne slouches a little, bracing her free hand on her hip and shifting her weight to that side. She breathes out, careful to keep it away from the phone. She almost tells Alphys not to worry about what she calls the human; Alphys doesn’t have to spare her… but maybe it’s not Undyne that she’s sparing.

Undyne rolls her shoulders, cracks her neck to one side, and tips the phone down again. Her voice is calm. 

“Have you caught them on the feed?” This isn’t a problem. Not yet. She’s got the cameras Alphys had installed, and Sans’ ability to shortcut wherever he was needed. Not to mention that the human is unfamiliar with Waterfall, and they’ll take the most direct route. They kind of _have_ to. 

There was a _reason_ Undyne hadn’t travelled to Snowdin to fight the human _herself_ , back when the news first broke. Snowdin is _cold_. _Also_ , she’d been suplexing walls and placing strategic boulders to block off most of the walking paths through Waterfall. 

She’d made sure the residents were aware and at a safe distance _before she did it_.

Either way. She’s lost track of the human? Fine. She’ll hunt them down eventually. If Alphys doesn’t spot them, Sans might still… Undyne drops her arm for a moment to huff a breath of annoyance, then lifts her phone again. No. If the human won Pap over, Sans is turning a blind eye to it. 

Not that she expected him to _take action_. Even if that were a thing he actually _did_ , sentries were supposed to pay attention and report back, not engage the enemy-- unless there were no other options. But she knows he can handle himself. 

She had - for a very short period of time - considered putting Sans in the Royal Guard. She hadn’t done it. She’d had a brief but _vivid_ picture in her head of the look on Papyrus’ face. It had made her **soul** ache… and it hadn’t even been _real_. 

It wasn’t that he’d been _upset_. Oh no, he’d been happy for his brother… but… at the same time?

Anyway, it wasn’t like Sans would have accepted the position. She’d barely gotten him to agree to the sentry post. The point is… the human is friendly, and she doesn’t expect Papyrus _or_ Sans to be totally unbiased about the situation. Sans might not give a carp about the human, but that wouldn’t matter if _Papyrus_ likes them.

Fine. She can trust Alphys to help her.

“W-well…”

There’s a long silence. Undyne waits for Alphys to apologize again, tell her the human hasn’t popped up. 

“...I… c-couldn’t find them on the cameras. Not since Snowdin.”

Yeah.

“In all…” Alphys pauses, like she’s checking something, “...all of the, um, history books, humans h-have very _different_ powers… so maybe this one c-can turn invisible?” 

Undyne grunts. That would be… kind of awesome. She remembers all of the historical re-enactments she and Alphys watched together. She remembers (kind of. She didn’t pay _that_ much attention in school outside physical training) that humans don’t have magic - _mostly_. The mages have been lost to time. _Mostly_. But humans obviously had magic in the past, and Asgore had always said lost didn’t equal _gone_. 

She grunts again and kicks a stone over the cliff… onto the pier, and into a water-sausage. Heh. Two points. She watches the ripples, faint waves of silver over black. More chase after them as the water-sausage dips into the lake again.

“I’ll watch for that when I finally run the punk down. All I need is one good hit, then I’ll know where they are, invisible or not.” She shrugs. It’s okay that Alphys hasn’t caught them. It’s a little disappointing… but she knows at this point that the human isn’t _stupid_. Undyne can hear the cameras when things are really quiet. The human might have noticed the same thing and started avoiding them. 

So there’s no telling whether they’ve passed her or not, but no one has been on the pier since she arrived. She’ll assume they’re still wandering, swim over to the pillars and wait for them to show.

“Call or text me if you see them, okay?”

“I…I will! I, ahh… I’m really glad y-you called.”

Undyne holds in the sigh, blows a breath out of her nostrils. She can hear the quaver in Alphys’ voice, and even though she knows Alphys will help her track down the human… she probably likes them too. 

“It’s… just good to know you’re safe. N-not… not that you wouldn’t, um. Win a-any fight, of course!”

She smiles faintly. Alphys didn’t have to worry about her, but she did it anyway. It was kind of… nice. Not the insult she’d always taken it for when she was a guppy.

“You know it!” 

“I… I do!” Alphys answers, a little too fast, but still earnest. “I do. But… sometimes I… I just….”

Then there’s the sound of wheels, a thump, Alphys gasping-- a clatter. The sweet warmth building in Undyne’s chest from Alphys’ comments spins, drains away and shifts into cold panic, worry that turns into focus, and she starts talking before she thinks about it--

“Alphys? _Alphys_ \-- _Talk_ to me! What happened?”

She’s already moving, turning toward Hotland and considering the quickest route to take... but she _can’t_ move right now because her armor will clank and she needs to _hear_. Alphys is coughing. Undyne listens to fumbling, the click of clawed hands on plastic, and holds perfectly still, breathing out _hard_ through her nostrils as Alphys’ voice comes back. 

“I j-just… I thought I…” Alphys takes a long shuddery breath. “I… I thought I saw something in… on a camera.”

“ _What_?” Then she checks her excitement, because - while it’s good if Alphys saw something - whatever it was had startled her. _Badly_. This is the woman who has handled delicate machinery and installed tiny mechanical parts while Undyne described training sessions with Papyrus in the background - sometimes with demonstrations. Fuck… Undyne almost hopes it _wasn’t_ the human. “Which camera?”

“The… the boulder falls, but… it… it was only a spider!” Alphys’ stutter is slightly more pronounced, but the longer she talks, the less Undyne can hear it. “Just, um… up close. I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… poor spider.” She giggles nervously. “I hope it didn’t, um, hear me…”

Undyne holds the phone away from her face to suck in a breath, and blow it out again. It wasn’t an attack, it wasn’t the human. It’s fine. Everyone aware of the human is a little on edge right now. Excited, nervous, Mettaton. That asshat has lots of edges. She’s calmer and smiling when she puts the phone back to her fin.

“Eh.” She shrugs and twists her hand in the air, calling up a spear, then dispelling it just as quickly. Poor spider? She doubts that. Undyne knows _exactly_ how expensive Spider Cider is at the moment. “Nah - what do they have to worry about? Muffet keeps ‘em busy… and… adds them to the recipe sometimes - you know what? Nevermind. You’re right.” Undyne snorts and when she says it, she’s only teasing a little. “Of course you’re right, _you’re_ the doc.”

“I… I...”

Undyne pauses in shifting her weight to listen _hard_. Alphys sounds… upset about something.

“ ...I am, aren’t I?”

Okay. Maybe she _doesn’t_ sound upset. If she did, she doesn’t anymore. Undyne will check on her later, _after_ things calm down again. Not that they will. She’ll find the human, kill them, and then the whole Underground will go insane because they’ll finally be getting _out_. 

“Yep!” She stoops to grab her helmet, shakes it firmly to dislodge any rock fragments, then turns back to the cliff’s edge. “So. Keep your giant brain sharp, let me know if you see the shrimp and make sure you eat some. Shrimp. Or… whatever. Something _not ramen_ , Alphys, I mean it.” She tries to keep the smirk out of her voice. “Ramen doesn’t fuel gigantic nerd brains. It doesn’t even fuel cute little nerd bodies. Eat something else. If you don’t _have_ anything else--” She drops into a vaguely menacing tone and whips the phone from her fin to hover directly in front of her mouth. “-- _I will make you something. Got it_?”

She can hear affirmative squeaking when she puts the phone back to her ear. 

"Egg! I… I c-could add an egg. I mean. Th-though, um, I would like to taste your cooking… I, I mean n-no! You don't have to do that, you have much more important people... things to worry about."

Undyne ignores the comment about there being more important people. There really _aren’t_ any more important people, even if she’s always worrying about Asgore, and she checks in on Gerson… and, okay, Papyrus is the type of monster that seems to _need_ supervision even though he really doesn’t… but that doesn’t make them _more important_. 

“I’ll cook you something.” She likes the idea so much she’s grinning into her phone. Sure, she has to deal with the human first, but _afterward_ \-- “Maybe it’ll even _be_ ramen. The best damn ramen you’ve ever tasted. Ramen so good, it’ll make those bowls of instant run away with tears on their labels.”

“You’re the captain. Captain.”

_Hell yeah_ she is! She’s still grinning. She can actually hear _Alphys_ grinning through the phone and it sounds _so damn good_ that Undyne doesn’t think about her next comment before it falls out--

“You’ll be the last monster to eat in my kitchen before we head out of the Underground for good.”

...Damn. _Damn_. Alphys… might be. They might _actually_ get out. They might get something their parents never had, and _their_ parents never had….

“I… um… thinking about it, I j-just r-realized t-that I… _should_ eat, shouldn’t I?” It sounds like Alphys is getting choked up now. Oops. But… Undyne gets that. She’s _feeling_ that. 

“I-I’m so sorry, Undyne, I… I should go….”

Undyne nudges a pebble with her boot, smiling faintly at the ground.

“Nah. Don’t worry about it. Eat something, do some stretching, get some water, you know the drill.”

She isn’t worried about Alphys being away from the camera feeds. She’s more worried about Alphys passing out from lack of sustenance. 

“If you see the human, call me. If they’re within spear-range--” She grins back to her third row of teeth. “-- _text_ me. Okay?”

Almost on command, her phone starts buzzing. She blinks, holds it away from her face just long enough to see the display before putting it back.

“Alphys, Papyrus is calling me. I need to take this.” _She_ needs to take this, and if Papyrus had seen the human, _Alphys_ might need to hear this. She brings Papyrus into the call with them just as Alphys begins to answer.

“Oh! I… I’m really sorry for k-keeping you so long. I… it was nice to… that is… I just… I’m sorry, I’ll--”

Undyne opens her mouth to explain that she wants Alphys to stay on - and doesn’t get there in time.

“THERE ARE NO APOLOGIES NECESSARY, FRIEND WITH WHOM I HAVE NOT PREVIOUSLY SPOKEN! ON THE CONTRARY, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, MUST APOLOGIZE TO YOU! I MEANT TO CALL CAPTAIN UNDYNE, BUT IT SEEMS THAT I HAVE DIALED THE WRONG NUMBER-”

Undyne grins, shaking her head at the cavern ceiling. 

“You _did_ get me, Paps. I put you on three-way. Did you see the human?” She hears a squeak… and she’s pretty sure it was Alphys, but for all she knows--

“UM. NO! I DID CALL TO TELL YOU ABOUT THEM. BUT _FIRST_ … HELLO, DOCTOR ALPHYS! WE HAVE NOT MET FACE TO FACE, IN PERSON, BUT UNDYNE HAS TOLD ME MUCH OF HOW _GREAT_ YOU ARE - ‘ _WINK_ ’!”

…Okay, _that_ is Alphys squeaking. On second thought, Alphys doesn’t need to be on this call. If Undyne needs to update her on the human, she’ll do it via text.

“She… s-she has? I… I m-mean… hello…?”

If Undyne weren’t about to yell at Papyrus for his continued and NOT AT ALL SUBTLE hints, she’d chortle at how cute Alphys sounded. But she steps in and gives her favorite nerd an out.

“SO YEAH, Alphys was just about to get some food, Papyrus. We shouldn’t keep her--”

“AH!” and this is Papyrus. Subtle hints had a fifty-fifty chance of flying over his skull while he posed dramatically. “I MUST RECOMMEND SPAGHETTI! IT IS WONDERFULLY HEARTY AND ENERGIZING--”

“PAPS.”

“YES, UNDYNE?”

Undyne’s still grinning, trying to keep her voice stern and listening to the faint squeaking that Alphys can’t fully stifle. 

“We need to let her hang up, so she can get on that.”

“OH! OF COURSE. GOODBYE, DOCTOR ALPHYS! IT WAS LOVELY TO SPEAK WITH YOU FOR LESS THAN A MINUTE!”

Undyne feels the urge to smash her helmet into her head once again - and sternly reminds herself she does not _want_ to break this helmet; she will have to listen to Gerson applaud her for finally being sensible and she _doesn’t want to hear it_. But they need to _boost_ the nerd’s self-esteem, not pull it further down! Sure, she knows Papyrus doesn’t _mean_ it that way but--

“U-um, you too! I-I mean _me_ too. I mean… same?”

Maybe Alphys took it literally.

“ABSOLUTELY! IT IS ALWAYS WONDERFUL TO SPEAK WITH ONE WHO IS SO NEAR TO MY OWN GREATNESS! NEXT TIME, WE MUST EXTEND THE CONVERSATION TO AT LEAST TEN--”

Okay, that was a good save. Maybe.

…She’s going to have to suplex some boulders after this.

“Bye, Alphys!” she says, cutting Papyrus off and hopefully saving them both further embarrassment. “I’ll call you later.”

“I… okay! B-bye?”

Undyne hears a beep. She glances at her display. Okay. Hung up. Totally. Good.

“HOLY CARP, PAPS, WHAT--”

“ _SO_ … THAT WAS DOCTOR ALPHYS, EH? _EH_?”

“Papyrus.” She’s _trying_ not to laugh. She isn’t very successful. “Why did you call me?”

“OH! YES. I, UTILIZING MY GREATNESS, WAS ABLE TO CALL THE HUMAN AND ASK WHAT THEY'RE WEARING!”

…How the hell did he get the human’s number? 

Wait. Does she really _care_ right now?

“Good job!” Humans - the humans in the historical documents - all look kind of the same, but they’re also similar to a lot of monsters. Four limbs, one head, walk upright, face. Any specifics she could get will help. “So?”

“SO WHAT?” 

…This skeleton.

“So what are they _wearing_ , Paps?”

“OH! THEY ARE WEARING…”

She’s almost surprised that there’s no drumroll. If she were talking to Sans, there would be a drumroll.

(Hell, if Sans were anywhere near Papyrus, he’d be _providing_ one.) 

“A DUSTY TUTU!”

There’s probably a cymbal crash. She can’t hear it over the noise of her **soul** falling on the ground and shattering. But she’s going to _walk it off_ , get on with her damn job… and hope the human was lying.

Alphys had called the human ‘little.’ The other kid hiding in the sea-grass, the quiet one, had been wearing a tutu.

“... and they just _told_ you this.”

“OF COURSE! THE HUMAN IS VERY HONEST. ONLY FITTING FOR A F... AN ACQUAINTANCE OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS.”

_Fuck_ , she hopes this human doesn’t break him. But it’s going to happen. Either the human will betray Papyrus, betray _everyone_ who thinks they’re small and cute and _sweet_ \- or _she_ is, when she takes their **soul**.

She hopes for the latter. It’ll involve less casualties.

“For once, I hope you’re wrong, Pap.”

“T-THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS NEVER WRONG! EXCEPT ON RARE OCCASIONS THAT HE DID NOT HAVE ALL THE FACTS… W-WHY DO YOU HOPE THAT?”

Because she might have let the human walk _right_ past her, following a monster child, and she hasn’t seen either of the little punks since. 

“Because if you aren’t... I have to wonder who that dust used to be.”


	6. The Brightest Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, Flowey Gets Wet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You never noticed that extra echo flower? *WINK* -Ω

He can’t change his basic color scheme.

When he’d realized he had limited shape-shifting abilities, it’d been the first thing he’d tried. It’d been something he’d tried over and over again.

It’s not like changing his shirt. It’s not like pouring ink onto fur and having to wash it with special soap, only to fail and ultimately have to explain to m... someone else what happened so they could crop off the dyed bits.

He’s a flower. His stem is green, his petals are golden, and the soft, powdery circle of his face is white. He’s _tried_ to change that, and failed every time.

Still. He can get pretty creative with a bottle of dye, a small slice at the base of his stem, and three days of recovery.

Lake water is easier. He only has to splash it in his face and the bioluminescent algae will cling. He doesn't _like_ to get water on his face, but the longer he goes without entertainment, the more effort he's willing to put in to get some.

He’d just shove his face _into_ the water and go about his business, but between sprouting, burrowing back into the ground and sprouting somewhere else, he can’t retain the algae; it disappears. The best he can do is bottle the water, hide it in a good spot, and use it for a quick color change if he needs camouflage. 

(It never takes long. There are always plenty of random bottles in the junkyard, drifting from one room to another... with a little help. (And so long as Woshua didn’t notice them first.) After the human fell, he’d sent some off, filled them, then buried them in the usual places.)

But that, and the fact that the wishing room is dark for better fake-star viewing, should let him blend in for a few hours.

Long enough for him to have a little fun, anyway. 

He has the same number of petals as an echo flower, which is convenient. He can shape his face into nearly anything (and he has, many many times) but he has six petals, and only six petals. He’s hidden them before - expanding his face until it was twice the normal size, overtaking the petals, widening the gaping black crescent of his mouth until it was big enough to swallow a human **soul** \- but he has six petals. Never any more. Never any less. 

(Unless someone _tore_ them off. Unless someone with a superiority complex and the kind of grin you _just wanted to smash_ had decided he wanted to be _extra_ fucking funny.) 

It’d taken _months_ to perfect the impression, and that was without counting the spans of time in resets when he’d just gotten _bored_ of it. He’s learned how to keep his face static, puckered and sunken around the edges, unless someone was to brush him - and then he trembled, like ripples on the water.

He’d mapped out the best places - places to sprout unseen by passing monsters, places to hide if someone found him out. Places where he’d look more blue than gold if he couldn’t reach his algae stockpiles and had to rely on the ambient lighting. He’d met Papyrus here more than once, and some camouflage was _necessary_ if he didn’t want random monsters coming to gawk at him… or if he wanted to have _a little fun_ leaving echo messages people _never_ expected to hear.

The usual stuff:

_“Oh no, did I leave the stove on?”_

Reminders were just polite. Or encouragement.

_“Ugh… I need to dump my boyfriend. That guy selling Nice Cream is really cute.”_

_“That’s it! Today. Today is the day I quit my job!”_

He sometimes indulged in the occasional rumor… or tried new impersonations.

_“OMG. Catty! Madjick was in Snowdin the other day and they were **totally** on a date with **Jerry**!”_

_“OMG, Bratty! Like, **no way**!”_

_“HERE, DOG. HERE, ANNOYING DOG! GIVE THE GREAT PAPYRUS BACK HIS BONE. HERE, SMALL, ANNOYING DOG WHOSE SPECIFIC NAME I HAVE NEVER BEEN TOLD!”_

And sometimes the Waterfall atmosphere just… _got_ to him.

_“... Was someone peeking around the corner?”_

But when he _really_ wanted a reaction, there was, of course, the classic.

_“It’s **all** just a bad dream.”_

Flowey sinks into his echo flower persona, relaxing, and doesn’t have to wait long. He can hear the tap of small boots and the faint crinkle of paper as the human enters, then… nothing. Not a sound. Not that there’s actually much to hear; the water that surrounds the Wishing Room isn’t audible. The puzzle of this room is how to get _out_. If it could be solved by getting too close to the right wall and hearing the water outside, that would be cheating - not that Flowey _cares_ , so long as the human eventually figures out how to leave and keeps _moving_.

He cracks open one eye. They’re still at the far door, examining their… what are they _wearing_? Some kind of crinkly skirt, stiff and pinkish but faded from age. They look down at it, frowning sadly. When they pat it, dust falls to the ground.

 _No_. Really? No. No _way_. The human had _killed_ someone, and he’d _missed_ it? For a moment, he isn’t sure if he wants to be angry or _thrilled_ , but…

No.

It can’t be _real_ dust. If it was, it wouldn’t _only_ be on the skirt. When a monster died a violent death, their dust _spread_ , covering _everything_ close to them at the time.

He knows _that_ better than most.

No. The weak little goody-goody human is still a weak little goody-goody. 

They glance around, soft face, soft hair, soft eyes taking it all in. The walls are close in this part of Waterfall, but the ceiling is so _high_. 

Monsters could look up and let themselves imagine it was the real sky, that there was no limit. It went on forever and so could they - up, and out, as far as they wanted. 

The problem was, eventually they had to come back to reality. They had to remember that they were still under a mountain. 

There were walls. Barriers. One in particular. 

They were trapped. All of them.

_“But I guess it’s nice to dream, Asri. At least for a little while.”_

The human walks like they’re worried about stepping on Moldsmals, making it only a little way into the cavern before stopping to stare at the plaque on the wall - as if they can read the runes. Flowey huffs softly, rolling his eyes. Eventually the human gets bored, wanders further… and then it happens. The cheerfully purple patch on their elbow (carefully sewn, each stitch precise and nearly invisible, as good as a signature) brushes one of the glowing flowers. 

“A long time ago, monsters would whisper their wishes to the stars in the sky.”

The human flinches, twisting to look for the voice. This goes on a little longer than Flowey thinks it should, _really_. But then… they really _are_ an idiot. He’s said it before. He still thinks it now. The monsters at the Waterfall checkpoint had _told_ them about echo flowers. 

“If you hoped with all your heart, your wish would come true.” 

Flowey twists his head very carefully to the side. One dead-end to his left, one behind, and the human staring at the echo flower, out of his sight. He can still hear it murmuring the words of whomever had recited the explanation this time. Echo flowers, if left alone, would echo indefinitely. Monsters tended to respect the messages, wanted them to remain for the next generation. But mistakes happened. People got startled too close to the flowers. Sometimes Chilldrake would talk over it for laughs, or Jerry would… Jerry. 

“Now, all we have are these sparkling stones on the ceiling...” 

Someone always replaced the original message… sometimes under duress. The time Aaron had talked about his sweet sweet muscles, Undyne had tracked him down and dragged him in by the ear to fix it.

Flowey had enjoyed that little exchange so much that he’d later _mimicked_ Aaron’s voice into the flower and set himself up to watch the show. Aaron had put the message back correctly, word for word… in a cadence that wasn’t _exactly_ fit for the auditory receptacles of children. Undyne had redone it almost immediately after turning Aaron loose. 

Small boots tap slowly over stone, pause - probably the human waiting to see if the flower has anything more to say. Eventually, they start walking again, and the rustle of cloth is loud in the silence before they trigger the next flower.

“Thousands of people wishing together can’t be wrong! The King will prove that.”

Flowey smirks, certain the human can’t see him right now - and even if they could, his head is tilted toward the dead-end corridor so that the smirk wouldn’t be visible. Either way, he keeps his eyes shut. He’s heard that flower before. He’s heard _all_ the flowers before.

(Except…) 

The messages had been interesting. At first. Seeing what was the same from… before. Listening to the changes. Laughing at what King As-guilty-as-shit had learned, a _little_ too late, and wondering how **she** would have reacted. Still. He thinks whoever originally had given that flower a voice had been protesting just a _little_ too much. 

Oh, sure - the King will prove that the utter destruction of humanity is fine, _just_ fine, because everyone’s wishing for it. This doesn’t strike Flowey as very accurate. It wasn’t necessary to have hundreds or even thousands of monsters wishing. All it would take was one human with no hesitation. 

One human… who isn’t _this_ human. Who just keeps _hugging_ people, and helping them with their problems and… ugh. He’s so fucking bored.

Bored enough to consider giving the human still wandering among the echo flowers reason to _hurry it up_. He’d already checked the raft crossing. Undyne is waiting just on the other side, and when the human gets there? Well. Watching someone _else_ dodge spears is always a good time. Flowey wouldn’t have sat in on the training sessions with Papyrus so often if it wasn’t. Particularly since they never injured each other… without help.

Flowey risks a look, tilting his head a little - the better to watch the human as they sidle up to the telescope. They rub cautious fingers over the lens before giving it a thorough wipe of their sleeve, then close one eye to look into it. 

Heh. Never trust a telescope. Everyone in the Underground had fallen for Smiley Trashbag’s trick at some point. _Everyone_ , including him. _Once_. It’s kind of a shame the human will never get past Undyne. They’d look good with a red eye. 

But you never knew. The human might get a little further. They were quick. They were wary. They _should be_. There was just _no telling_ when something that should be harmless _wasn’t_. 

Flowey sinks further into himself, half-closing his eyes, feeling the warm damp of the soil around his roots. He’s just one more echo flower. Shimmery, placid… _boring_. Just… here. Echoing whatever sound his magic had picked up last, like all the rest.

He resists the urge to breathe out in irritation. Oh yeah. Magical. Absolutely. Sentient? No.

Lucky them.

“I…”

What? 

He’s been ignoring the human. They haven’t been _doing_ anything; they’d sat down near the telescope and were being boring - being _stupid_. The telescope was easy: as soon as you noticed that there was something black over the lens, you looked for the brightest place so you could read the message. The hidden door was _ea-sy_. It opened up as soon as you touched it! What was the human _doing_? 

They are, he finds when he tilts his face far enough to glance at them, pointing at the ceiling. 

“I wish…” 

Flowey trembles with the effort of not saying anything. He doesn’t coo snidely about how _cute_ the human is. How sad and _desperate_ they look, curling themselves into a crinkly little ball of pink skirt and badly-knitted sweater. Like wishing ever _really_ worked. It was about as much use as crying, and took more clean-up when you realized your wish wasn’t actually going to come true. It was _stupid_. 

But… he doesn’t get to hear them talk, that often. 

Their voice is small, as small as the human using it. Kind of scratchy. Not like a mouse, like it would startle and disappear at the first sign of danger. More like a ghost. Quiet, keeping to itself, mostly. Made you wonder if it had ever been there in the first place. Not like ( **her**. She hadn’t spoken that often, but when she did it was soft and clear. She commanded attention and _kept_ it.)

“... a skeleton was here to help me!”

Wait, what? _Seriously_?

Flowey indulges in a grimace and a thorough eye-roll, careful to keep facing mostly away from the human… though they’re still staring at the ceiling anyway, so who cares? All the wishes they could have made, and _that’s_ what they come… no, wait. 

No… this is… _good_. Papyrus had made an impression! He’d done what Flowey wanted; the human likes him! Good. _Really_ good. Because Papyrus is the only one who can get through to Undyne, and if Papyrus isn’t just sympathetic to the human, he’s actually _friends_ with them... That means things are going _well_. 

He closes his eyes again, smirking before sinking back into a neutral face. Now if, just by coincidence, the human’s phone began to ring? That would be hilarious.

There is a noise. Not a phone. A click - then another one. Louder. Closer.

Flowey holds himself very, very still because…

...feeling of being watched.

He waits. There... might have been a voice, a very small one. Not the human. 

...A voice with a weird accent.

There’s a stone on the floor. It shimmers faintly in the corner of Flowey’s vision, but he can’t turn - the human is looking around. Like someone threw it. Like it hadn’t just… a stone dropped. From the ceiling.

Really? _Really_? 

A star fell. 

For the fallen human.

 _Seriously_? 

The human finally gets up, wiping a damp hand over their leggings. They open their mouth and their voice creeps timidly through the corridor.

“Kid?” 

Footsteps come closer. Flowey contracts his eyes to pinpricks but keeps looking at the cavern ceiling because there’s _someone else here_ and he needs to know _who_ \--

There’s a tiny white blur… and an even tinier little voice.

"h0i!"

...oh _god_. Not one of _tem_. 

He doesn’t want to give himself away. He’d gesture for her to leave, but the human would _notice_ if he moves too much. The Temmie in the ceiling already had. All he can do is hope she _doesn’t_ start talking to him. If he waves, she _definitely_ will. Damnit. The human needs to move on. 

“P...Papyrus?”

Maybe he should just scrap this run and force a reload. He doesn’t _want_ to. He isn’t sure where they’d start up if he did. 

Maybe he can scare the human into the next room before they notice him. A vine, under the ground. Just a little nudge, a _tap_. A gust of wind to start all the echo flowers muttering to one another. The human needs to _move along_ before they see the Temmie. Get going, and get _running_ from swift and pointy demise, because Flowey has had _enough_ of watching them call out for people who _will never come_.

He’s just a plant. Just a harmless little echo flower. 

But one vine… snaking out of the wall… wrapping around the human’s skinny neck. A few thorns cropping out of the ground, piercing their little boots…

It wouldn’t take much.

“Cha--”

He _freezes_ , staring into the distance-- but then the human brushes an echo flower, falling silent as it speaks.

“C’mon sis--”

What? _What had they been about to say?_

The echo flowers shiver as he shifts his vines beneath the ground. He doesn’t hear them - not the one that interrupted the human, not the one next to it--

“I wish my sister and I--”

He only hears the barely-audible susurrus of his own body underneath the ground, feels roots thickening into vines as he reaches through them - _all_ of them.

“--will see the real stars someday.”

He’s going to do it. He’s _tired_ of this run. He’s bored, he’s _angry_ , and to top it off, there’s a _Temmie_ in the _ceiling_ making his life even _more difficult_.

He’ll just _kill_ the human while they’re distracted - while there’s no one here to _intervene_ \-- 

“Beneath the mountain, fallen down…”

That’s… not an echo flower. Although one of them is repeating, sweetly, what the human says. 

“Four-hundred fifteen rabbits lived in cozy Snowdin Town.”

That story is… old. Older than he is. (Older than he could have been.) He

_remembers lying in bed, assuring her that he wasn’t tired at all. Really. He’d stay up through the entire story, and the one after that… and she could read Fluffy Bunny, honest. He wouldn’t cry this time._

He remembers...

“A mama, her babies, and… and the neighbor bear with honey: all kept close watch on the youngest, Fluffy Bunny!”

_“What’s this, Asri?”_

_He tried to pluck the book from her hands, blushing. She was too fast for him._

_“Kid stories.”_

_“I’m a kid. You’re **definitely** a kid--”_

_“I mean a bedtime story for baby monsters, c’mon--”_

_“...Read it to me?”_

_He’d avoided her eyes, still blushing. “Don’t make fun.”_

_“I’m not.”_

_When he finally looked up she was waiting - patiently - and holding out the book._

_“Please?” Behind the teasing sparkle in her eyes was something… small. Something tense and ready to disappear._

_He accepted the book from her hand. They both sat down on his bed, and he carefully opened it to the first page._

He’s listening. If anyone asks, he’ll say that he wanted to see if the human remembered it all. He’ll say that the idiot hardly ever _talks_ , and he was basking in the novelty. He’ll say it’s none of their damn business and pelt the moron bothering him with friendliness pellets until they know better than to ask him anything. Ever.

He certainly isn’t doing it because he _wants_ to listen to that _stupid_ storybook, or hear how Fluffy Bunny had disappeared, even though you searched-- 

“--left and right,  
upstairs and down,  
and still no rabbit  
could ever be found.

“The… the angel came, and set them free  
up in the sky where they’re meant to be.”

He can smirk at the ending, though - how the writer never _really_ came out and said whether the bunnies were outside Mt. Ebott, or if they were all dust in the wind. Oh, the variation in interpretation. 

“But … b-but Fluffy Bunny, your friend so true…” The human’s voice wavers. “They… they… they…”

Aww. Does the little human need help? Softly, just an echo--

“--they jumped up close inside your heart,  
and now they live with _you_!” 

Flowey’d relaxed his vines a while ago. He leans backward slightly - not tilting his face, just enough to see the human… and a drop of water falls on one of his petals. He holds back a flinch. They’re not even _in_ that part of Waterfall. What the--

He glances upward again. The Temmie is crying. Her lower lip is quivering and big, fat, raindrop-tears are rolling down her cheeks. Some of them are falling on his head.

 _C’mon_ , really?

The human’s saying something and he’s _missing_ it because it was _already_ hard enough to hear them in a _silent room_ and _now_ he’s got the Temdrops to contend with. 

…He reminds himself that it’s a _good_ thing that the human hasn’t noticed the localized rainstorm. Maybe they’re deaf as well as stupid. It would explain a lot. 

_“GOOD NIGHT, SMALL HUMAN!”_

Flowey does flinch at that, but the human doesn’t notice, finishing a… fairly passable impression of Papyrus into an echo flower. Tch. Nice. Way to get Papyrus in trouble if Undyne happened to listen to the flowers. As Flowey keeps watching, the human leans forward, kissing the echo flower.

...They aren’t going to do that to _him_ , are they?

He frowns, no longer caring if he gets noticed, as the human turns to the other echo flower and hunches their shoulders, shoving their hands into their pockets and--

_“night, kiddo.”_

...well then. 

The tears continue.

Flowey grits his teeth, glares at the ground, and bows beneath their weight. His head bobs lightly each time they hit, making a sound like raindrops on an umbrella. 

It would be so nice to have an umbrella right now. It would be even nicer if the human (whose feet Flowey can _finally_ see moving over to the telescope) would just figure out the _damn puzzle_ and _move on_ \-- and if they wanted to skip pretending to read the next set of plaques, _that_ would be fantastic, because he wants to sit underneath the pier _just_ as much as he wants to keep sitting here, being watered by a Temmie.

 _How_ did she even get up there? _Seriously_.

He crafts fangs in the placid circle of his face, so he can bare them. He would hiss, but… ugh. Is it really worth it? _Really_? A little patience now would prevent going to find something else to do when the human jumps back to their last **save**. There is _no way_ he’ll sit through this insipid little show a second time. Oh, sure, he could use it to mock the human later, but he’s being cried on, he _doesn’t like it_ , and he doesn’t know how much longer this disguise is gonna hold up. 

A drop of water slides beneath two petals and over the curve of his face, soaking in. Flowey shudders. Fuck. Now that spot feels sticky. Matted-- like….

He flinches, shaking off as much water as he can when the next drop hits. Then he overlaps his petals as unobtrusively as he can, to keep it from happening again. He doesn’t _like_ getting his face wet. He doesn’t like… Temmies, _or_ their cutesy little village. There’s a _reason_ he never goes there. But. It _has_ been a while.

Maybe he should visit. 

Plip.

He’ll ask the Temmies if they want to play a game.

Plip. 

They’re always up for it. 

Plip.

Especially when you offer them tem flakes.

Plip.

That you just bought.

Plip.

From _their own damn store_.

Plip.

He’ll tell them to meet him in Snowdin, near the snowball course.

Plip.

He’ll hide in the goal. 

Plip.

Then, when they _get_ there… _forrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_.

… 

The tears finally stop.

…but he still wants to go to Temmie Village.

Oh, sure. Flowey’d never successfully _killed_ a Temmie that way… and after he’d launched the first of tem, the rest of tem had stared at him, then promptly clamored that it was “tem turn next!” That… had put a slight damper on his enjoyment. He’d wanted to make them _hurt_. They were supposed to be _afraid_. 

But he’d settle for hitting something _really, really hard_.

The human is walking up to him. The Temmie _finally_ stopped and _now_ the human wants to hear more echos? Fine. _Fine_. He’s so good at being harmless… until he _isn’t_. 

He thinks about lashing out. The human’s shock, their fear when they’d caught his ‘friendliness pellets’? _Oh_ that had been nice. That had been _different_. He could stand to see that again… but… he can be an echo flower a little longer. Why not? He’s mimicked echo flowers so many times, though not for the human. 

Flowey stretches a smile over his face before smoothing it featureless. Who will he be this time? A monster? A memory? Their best friend?

A finger, soft, warm, _trembling_ , grazes him.

“Worms!” It’s a child’s voice, small, delighted. Maybe a fish monster, finding an unexpected treat. “Mmmm!” 

The human giggles. Safe beneath his cover of manufactured turquoise and drooping petals, he smiles, razor-sharp. A root, less than a step behind the human’s foot, wriggles free to lay _just above_ the ground.

Now he can combine the echos with something of his own and… 

“It’s so great to ha v  e . . .”

Today. 

He’ll be their best nightmare. 

He _laughs_.

All of his voices, all of his sounds, all at once. Hard and soft and indistinct, crashing into one another, breaking upon impact, falling into white noise. The human stumbles away from him, hands cupped over their head to ward off the assault. Their eyes are shut tight, blocking out as much of the world as they can. They don’t see him. They don’t see their own **soul** flaring bright, _bright_ red within them. The light flickers, throwing out crimson tendrils that paint their skin in tones of fire. Lavender turns purple, blue turns lavender, brown turns auburn and it’s so… very… 

pretty.

_“You can call it, right? I’m… I want to see what it looks like.”_

_“I shouldn’t. It would be rude for me to--”_

_“Not if I’m **asking** you to do it.”_

A human’s **soul** was a slowly tilting planet in the vast null of their physical bodies. It was their beginning, their end, their _everything_. 

He’s _seen_ this, more than once, but every time he has to stop and stare at the ruby light sliding over the small pointed chin, the curve of their jaw, the waving tips of their hair and their tiny nose.

It’s beautiful. 

It’s heat and _warmth_ and power and he _wants it_ \--

and he _rips_ his vines out of the ground, lashing at the human’s feet like a snare.

He smirks harder, watching, waiting for the lovely _crunch_ of bone on earth, earth that wasn’t soft enough to break the human’s fall without _breaking_ the human-- 

“i nsid e m e your hear t… an d . .”

He’s got their ankle. Let them try and run from Undyne _now_. Easy pickings. Easily captured and speared and well… maybe they _can_ do this again. 

“ . now I c an f e e l th em ey live wriggggl ing with  yo u . . .” 

They twist in mid-air. He clutches at soft flesh and hard bone but their foot flies upward, slipping out of his grasp and the human--

( **she** had--) 

lands safely. 

Flowey huffs silently, turning away again. Nice hard fall, knocked the wind out of them, they’d eaten a little dirt. Nothing _serious_. No screams of pain. Sure, the trembling was entertaining, but they’d been _doing that before_. 

The human pushes themselves into a sitting position, eyes wide, glassy. Aawwwww, their skirt is all dirty now. Tsk tsk tsk. Whatever would _mom_ say?

 _My goodness! It appears the soil enjoyed your company so much, it decided to accompany you home! Come and wash up. It is almost time for supper._

He pushes the washed-out, fluttery half-delight down into his roots. The sensation warms him before it filters through the spongy earth. Mmm. The look on their _face_ \-- too bad he can’t laugh right now, but it was still _worth_ it to stay in character. 

Aww. Now they’re calling for help. Ugh. Predictable.

“P-Papyrus, ‘m in the wish--”

“THE WISHING ROOM!”

Yep. He isn’t always close enough to listen to the human’s phone conversations, but Papyrus is really, _really_ hard to ignore.

“HAVE YOU MADE A WISH?” 

“I… I wished a skeleton was here to help me.”

Yep. Flowey had been there. It sounds just as pathetic this time. He listens to the crinkly skirt crinkling, watches the human cautiously testing whether their injured foot can bear weight. It can. Tch. Well. It’s not like the human runs _that_ fast. They’ll still have a time getting away from Undyne. 

“AH! WELL. I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WISH THAT I COULD BE THERE RIGHT NOW!”

“Me, too.”

Flowey rolls his eyes at the quaver in their voice. Ugh. Whine more, you big baby. What good would it do if Papyrus was in Waterfall with them? They’d still be in the _Underground_. Wishing to be somewhere else that wasn’t oh, maybe, _on the surface_? Was _stupid_ , and a waste. He knows that from experience. He’s been all over. Flowey can go anywhere there’s soil. He goes everywhere roots do.

Everywhere?

_Sucks._

Hotland is too hot, Waterfall is too wet, Snowdin is too cold, the Capital is too _busy_ (and too paved. It was kind of _obvious_ when he popped up in the middle of a cobblestone street.) The best places for flowers - the _only_ places with any sunlight - are still the Ruins, and King Fluff-for-brains’ garden. So. In the few places his body is totally comfortable, it still. Sucks. 

He sighs, slowly enough that he doesn’t move. The human’s still talking to Papyrus. They don’t notice. 

He can go anywhere. Anywhere but _out_. Isn’t _that_ a familiar problem?

“BUT PERHAPS YOUR WISH HAS ALREADY COME TRUE - SANS...”

The human freezes mid-step. Flowey turns his head very slowly to stare at the human’s phone, as if he can compel Papyrus to continue the conversation. The human doesn’t even glance in his direction, every limb of their little body tense and almost shaking. 

“S-Sans?”

“OH. SANS IS ON THE COUCH.”

...and it’s a false alarm. Huh. Weird timing. He suppresses a grimace at the thought of Smiley watching them - well, watching the _kid_ \- through this whole ordeal. Not that he’s _not_ around a lot, because he is. He’s _everywhere_. But if Papyrus was staring _right at_ his stupid smiley face, then Sans was not (for once) anywhere else. 

It was _really difficult_ to watch a show when Mr. Smiley the usher kept ejecting people for throwing popcorn at the screen. Popcorn. Seeds. Biceps. 

Flowey’s amazed that _anyone_ has managed to pull the human into a confrontation since they left the Ruins. _He_ sure as hell hasn’t had a front row seat since then, but he’s more interested in burrowing under the radar than he is in seeing the human dodge Woshua’s ridiculous standards in cleanliness. If Trashbag sees him following the human, he might wonder why. Then he’d want to _chat_. 

Flowey wants any little talk with Sans to be on _his_ terms, not the skeleton’s. 

“...oh.”

Flowey stops paying attention to the conversation (insofar as he _can_ ignore Papyrus at full volume) and relaxes, shifting his roots through the malleable ground beneath his stem. Things _are_ going well. The human obviously has Papyrus wrapped around their teensie weensie little finger, and Papyrus is giving them reassurance--

“I KNOW EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE, SO IT WOULD NOT TAKE LONG TO FIND YOU. SIMPLY SAY THE WORD, AND THE GREAT PAPYRUS SHALL MAKE THE JOURNEY.”

\--which is good, because it means _Flowey_ doesn’t have to. He _can_ , in a pinch. He can be as sweet as _pie_ , give advice, and be their _best friend_. But it’s so hard to act like he cares when he just... _doesn’t_. He’s impatient for things to _keep going_. He wants to watch the human fight - a _real_ fight, against someone who really _is_ trying to kill them.

Not that there’s any point. If someone kills the human, it won’t last. But the _monsters_ don’t know that. _Undyne_ doesn’t know that. So it’ll be a serious fight. Good entertainment. 

Every time.

Until… he gets bored of watching it over and over again. Because he will. He already doesn’t want to come back here to be cried on again. But… maybe if he sprouts somewhere else in the room. Because it’s still _interesting_. It hasn’t happened before. None of this has happened before. Papyrus has never calmed a human unnerved by how ‘scary and sad’ it is in Waterfall.

“DO NOT WORRY! WISHES DO NOT FALL DOWN AS MONSTERS DO. THIS SIMPLY MEANS THAT IT CHOSE TO ACCOMPANY YOU! THIS IS A VERY GOOD THING! SANS! MY NEW FRIEND HAS A NEW FRIEND! FRISK! I HAVE DECIDED. YOU MUST BRING YOUR FALLEN STAR FRIEND TO MEET OUR PET ROCK. THEY TOO, MUST BECOME FRIENDS.”

Flowey scoffs a little and rolls his eyes. It’s _ridiculous_ … but entertaining. It’s been a while since he had something new to watch that he hasn’t had to _facilitate_. So… yeah. He can just take it easy. He can enjoy this. 

"h0i!"

Or. He can go utterly still because that… wasn’t Papyrus. Or the human.

...was that from the phone?

“... HELLO?” Papyrus’ voice pauses for a moment. “I DO APOLOGIZE, MY FRIEND. I THOUGHT I MIGHT HAVE HEARD SOMETHING. BUT IT SEEMS THAT I DID NOT. EVEN I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, CAN IMPERFECTLY GRASP A SITUATION. IT IS NOTHING TO BE ALARMED ABOUT- IT SIMPLY MEANS THAT I MUST LOOK MORE CLOSELY, AND SOMETIMES SHIFT THE POSITIONING OF MY GLOVES.”

Flowey doesn’t… actually care. He cares whether that same Temmie had been _sobbing_ over his _head_ less than five minutes ago, because _if it was_ \--

It meant Trashbag _was_ watching, had _been_ watching, and probably had been _chortling_ while the Temmie cried all of tem tears over his body… 

He glances to the side. The human’s gone - or nearly gone, carrying Papyrus’ voice down the hallway and finally heading into the next room and he _seethes_. He’s been _so careful_. He’d spent months doing _nothing_ because he needed to lull _that damned skeleton_ into a false sense of security. He is _good_ at this but if Smiley Trashbag _knows_ enough to be paying attention and is trying to distract him... 

No. 

He _can’t_ know about this. Not yet. 

The human is _new_. All the pathways and all the branches are _new_. Sans can’t anticipate something that has never happened before. 

But it is possible that Flowey’s been an _idiot_ and his interest is obvious. He wants to know. He could check. The next time they get to this point, he can come back and sprout further down the wall. He’ll see if the star falls from the same place. He can find out whether Temmie starts crying on the same patch of floor, whether or not he’s growing there. 

Or maybe this is what gives him away. Maybe he shouldn’t show up for this little scenario.

Maybe he… won’t. 

Maybe he’ll never have been here at all.

He wonders if he can sneak up behind the human and just _kill_ them before Smiley can do anything about it. 

Maybe he can... no. No. _He_ doesn’t have to do it… but. Trashbag can’t be nearby to interfere when someone else _does_. He needs a distraction. 

He could use Papyrus, but Flowey… can do one better. There’s someone else. Someone on the _tiny_ list of people Sans actually gives a shit about. Someone who got to see behind the punny mask and actually kind of... _knew_ Sans.

Someone vulnerable… pitiable. Someone so terribly _lonely_ in her self-imposed solitude and so _desperate_ for conversation that involves _actual words_. 

Flowey doesn’t realize he’s slipping through the soil - back into his vast system of roots and vines and every little crevasse he can pry his way through if he wants to badly enough - until he does it. 

As far as potential targets go, one stands out and ideas are… sprouting. 

He giggles beneath the earth, his interest in the human crumbling to dust, and presses on.


End file.
